DITTE 

DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 


i)ITTE 

DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 


BY 


MARTIN  ANDERSEN  NEXO 


TRANSLATED  FROM  THE  DANISH 
A.  G.   CHATER  and  RICHARD  THIRSK 


NEW  YORK 
HENRY  HOLT  AND  COMPANY 


COPTRIOHT,     1021 
BT 

HENRY  HOLT  AND  COMPANY 


PRINTED    IN    THE    U     S    A. 


CONTENTS 


THE  FALL 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I     Among  Strangers 3 

II     Homesickness 14 

III  Ditte's  Mistress 28 

IV  A  Welcome  Visitor 38 

V     Ditte  Visits  Home 46 

VI  The  Maid  with  the  Rosy  Cheeks  .      69 

VII     Winter  Darkness 80 

VIII  Winter  Runs  Its  Tedious  Course  .     96 

IX     A  Summer  Day 107 

X     SoRiNE  Comes  Home 117 

XI  Ditte  Consoles  a  Fellow-Creature  128 

XII     Summer  Is  Brief 135 

XIII  The  Heart     .      .  .      .      .      .145 

XIV  The  End  OF  Big  Klaus  .      .      .      .157 
XV    Home  Again 167 

XVI  The  Son  From  the  Hill  Farm  .      .175 

XVII  Ditte  Basks  in  THE  Sun      .      .      .186 

XVIII     The  Feast 194 

XIX     ***** 207 

PURGATORY 

XX  V7hy  Doesn*t  the  Lass  Get 

Married? 213 

XXI  Out  IN  the  Wide  World      .      .      .   227 

iii 


IV 

CHAPTER 

XXII 
XXIII 
XXIV 

XXV 

XXVI 

XXVII 

XXVIII 

XXIX 

XXX 

XXXI 

XXXII 

XXXIII 

XXXIV 


CONTENTS 

TAGE 

The  Maternity  Home    ....   248 

The  Angels 259 

Ditte  Makes  One  of  the  Family  .   271 
Ditte  Is  Promoted  to  the  Rank 

OF  Parlor-Maid 282 

Homeless! 293 

Karl's  Face 299 

Ditte's  Day 310 

Spring 321 

Good  Days 333 

Ditte  Plucks  Roses       ....  347 

The  Dog 359 

George  and  Ditte 369 

The  Reckoning 381 


THE  FALL 


CHAPTER  I 

AMONG  STRANGERS 

"'^K^T'OU  won't  be  altogether  among  strangers 
I  either,"  Lars  Peter  had  said  by  way  of  com- 
fort, the  evening  before  Ditte  was  to  go  off  to 
her  first  place.  "The  Hill  Farm  woman  was  called 
Man  before  she  was  married;  her  grandfather  and  old 
Soren  Man's  father  must  have  been  sort  of  half- 
cousins.  It's  a  bit  distant  of  course — and  perhaps 
you'd  better  not  make  any  remark  about  it — wait  and 
see  if  they  come  forward.  It's  always  a  mistake  to 
claim  relations  above  you." 

It  was  indeed  distant — no  doubt  about  that;  and 
he  only  mentioned  it  as  a  sort  of  consolation — for  want 
of  something  better.  Lars  Peter  knew  only  too  well 
what  relationship  is  worth  when  you're  the  under-dog. 
And  Ditte  wasn't  such  a  fool  either. 

All  the  same  her  father's  words  helped  her  along 
the  last  and  hardest  bit  of  the  road  out.  It  was  no 
light  thing  to  have  to  tramp  to  her  first  place,  with  no 
companion  of  any  kind.  Ditte's  heart  was  in  her 
mouth  when  she  thought  of  the  new  life  she  was  go- 
ing to — how  would  she  manage  it?  And  the  farm 
people — how  would  they  receive  her?  Perhaps  too 
there  would  be  a  big  dog  who  v/ould  drive  her  off, 
so  that  she  couldn't  get  into  the  farm  at  all,  but  would 

3 


4  DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

have  to  wait  in  the  road  till  somebody  happened  to 
come.  Then  of  course  she  would  be  scolded  for  com- 
ing too  late.  Oh  no,  she  would  get  in  all  right,  but 
which  door  was  she  to  go  to — the  scullery  or  the  fine 
front  door?  And  was  she  to  say,  I  am  the  new  little 
girl?  No;  she  must  mind  and  say  Good  day  first,  or 
else  they  would  think  her  badly  brought  up,  and  that 
would  reflect  on  her  home. 

It  wasn't  at  all  easy,  and  here  her  father's  com- 
forting words  stood  her  in  good  stead.  When  you 
were  one  of  the  family — though  it  might  be  distant — 
it  was  another  thing;  then  you  came  half  on  a  visit, 
as  it  were !  The  thought  gave  her  a  firmer  foothold 
at  once,  and  Ditte  wouldn't  have  been  surprised  to  hear 
her  new  mistress  cry  in  astonishment,  Well,  is  that 
Ditte !  You  take  after  our  side  of  the  family,  you  do 
indeed ! 

When  Ditte  presently  stood  in  the  Hill  Farm  scul- 
lery with  her  bundle  under  her  arm,  the  reality  pre- 
sented itself  rather  differently.  She  had  no  chance  of 
saying  anything,  for  Karen,  the  mistress  of  the  house, 
just  looked  her  up  and  down  with  a  dissatisfied  air  and 
said :  "So  you're  the  rag  and  bone  man's  eldest?  You're 
a  bit  undersized  for  your  age,  aren't  you?  Put  you 
down  to  a  bit  of  work  and  we  shall  lose  sight  of  you 
altogether." 

Nothing  was  said  about  relationship,  and  Ditte  was 
not  surprised  either!  now  she  was  once  here  she  could 
afford  to  look  realities  in  the  face.  Perhaps  the  farm 
people  here  simply  knew  nothing  about  the  relation- 
ship; there  are  so  many  poor  people  that  it  isn't  easy 


AMONG  STRANGERS  5 

to  remember  all  about  them!     At  any  rate  Ditte  was 
illegitimate  and  so  didn't  count. 

For  that  matter  it  was  quite  correct  about  the  re- 
lationship, but,  as  Lars  Peter  had  said,  it  was  a  bit 
distant.  A  son  from  the  Naze  Farm  had  got  tired 
of  the  drudgery  at  home  and  had  gone  northwestward 
along  the  coast  until  he  found  this  place  and  settled 
down.  Probably  this  happened  at  a  time  when  the 
Mans  still  got  most  of  their  living  from  the  sea.  At 
all  events  the  farm  was  badly  placed  for  agriculture — 
right  out  among  the  dunes  where  nothing  could  grow. 
It  was  built  at  the  upper  end  of  a  fold  in  the  sloping 
cliffs — as  though  with  the  object  of  hiding  it  from  the 
land  side;  it  had  no  view  of  its  own  fields  or  of  the 
country  behind  them.  Coming  from  the  land,  one 
scarcely  noticed  that  there  was  a  farm  here.  On  the 
other  hand,  there  was  more  than  enough  to  be  seen 
of  the  sea;  the  three-winged  farm  buildings  lay  open 
on  that  side,  with  their  two  arms  conspicuously  stretch- 
ing out  as  though  to  embrace  as  much  of  the  sea  as 
came  in  view  at  the  bottom  of  the  ravine.  There  must 
have  been  a  reason  for  this  at  one  time;  now  at  any 
rate  it  was  a  topsy-turvy  state  of  things.  From  the 
windows  of  the  living  room,  where  according  to  the 
laws  of  nature  one  ought  to  be  able  to  keep  an  eye 
on  man  and  beast,  there  was  always  the  sea  and  noth- 
ing else  in  sight;  from  the  cold,  exposed  farmyard  it 
was  the  same.  Outside  boats  glided  casually  by,  ap- 
pearing from  behind  one  corner  of  the  cliff  and  van- 
ishing again  behind  the  other;  ships  passed  by  far 
out,  whose  voyage  none  could  guess;  in  clear  weather 


6  DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

a  blue  bank  loomed  far  away — land  nobody  knew  or 
cared  to  learn  anything  about.  There  was  other 
land  near  by,  which  it  was  more  profitable  to  think 
about. 

At  one  time,  then,  there  had  been  an  object  and  a 
use  for  this;  from  these  windows  they  could  keep  an 
eye  on  boat  and  nets — and  on  strange  craft.  In  the 
course  of  time  many  a  skipper  had  anchored  off  here 
at  night  and  had  sold  part  of  his  cargo  of  com  to 
the  Mans  on  the  hill;  and  a  few  of  them  had  come 
here  against  their  will.  In  those  days  there  was  a  good 
reason  for  the  mill  too,  which  now  stood  in  ruins  above 
the  farm  buildings  as  a  sort  of  monument  to  the  fool- 
ishness of  the  Hill  Farm  people.  Nobody  but  a  luna- 
tic could  have  built  the  mill;  for  who  would  think  of 
driving  right  out  to  the  seashore  to  get  his  corn 
ground? 

"Go  to  the  Hill  Farm  mill,  it  can  grind  sand  into 
corn,"  was  the  derisive  comment  when  anybody  pro- 
posed to  do  something  really  mad.  But  he  who  first 
gave  rise  to  the  saying  was  not  altogether  out  of  bis 
senses  for  all  that.  His  back  soon  began  to  be  bent 
by  dragging  the  heavy  sacks  from  the  beach  up  to  the 
mill  at  dead  of  night,  and  his  face  showed  ugly  traces 
of  his  secret  work.  People  were  afraid  of  him.  But 
he  amassed  the  dollars  that  the  family  could  afterwards 
spend.  And  he  bought  the  land  that  became  the  Hill 
Farm  fields,  and  started  farming — chiefly,  no  doubt, 
to  prevent  questions  being  asked  about  all  the  corn 
ground  at  his  mill. 

But  the  sea  is  so  uncertain,  and — somehow  or  other 


AMONG  STRANGERS  7 

— people  grew  more  honest  by  degrees.  Little  by 
little  farming  became  the  family's  means  of  liveli- 
hood. 

Now  they  were  farmers  and  nothing  else.  The  earth 
clung  heavily  to  their  wooden  shoes,  they  wanted  to 
feel  the  firm  ground  under  them,  it  made  them  giddy 
to  look  at  the  rolling  sea  and  they  hated  its  wide  ex- 
panse. They  never  went  down  to  the  shore  if  they 
could  help  it;  the  days  were  long  past  when  they  had 
any  business  there;  it  was  quite  enough  to  have  the  sea 
always  staring  them  in  the  face.  It  lay  there  flaunting 
its  aggravating  uselessness;  it  couldn't  grow  anything 
and  it  only  sent  them  chilly  showers.  If  only  that 
fourth  wing  had  been  built!  A  proper  farmyard  was 
square  and  closed  in,  that  was  the  order  of  nature. 
But  here  from  the  cradle  to  the  grave  they  had  to  stare 
at  a  gaping  void,  with  the  constant  feeling  of  being  on 
the  point  of  slipping  out  into  the  unknown.  The  farm- 
yard was  like  a  tilted  sieve :  if  anything  started  rolling 
it  kept  on  till  it  reached  the  beach.  And  then  some- 
body had  to  go  down  to  the  detested  water's  edge  and 
bring  the  thing  up  again. 

The  people  of  the  farm  had  to  admit  that  in  the  long 
run  it  is  not  a  good  thing  to  be  shut  off  from  one's  own 
belongings  and  kept  constantly  face  to  face  with  some- 
thing one  cannot  bear  the  sight  of.  That  outlook  had 
the  same  effect  on  them  as  the  walls  of  his  cell  on  a 
convict  and  made  them  unbalanced  and  unruly.  There 
were  many  disorderly  fellows  among  them,  and  the 
farm  kept  gossip  busy.  This  again  contributed  to  their 
feeling  of  isolation. 


8  DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

But  they  didn't  altogether  let  things  slide,  the  owners 
of  the  Hill  Farm.  Any  one  of  them  might  now  and 
again  bring  his  fist  down  on  the  table  with  an  oath 
that  now  the  gap  should  be  closed  with  a  new  wing,  or 
the  whole  shanty  moved  up  to  the  top  of  the  hill.  Then 
he  would  have  the  horse  put  in,  to  set  about  it  at  once 
— and  come  back  from  the  town  with  a  skinful.  This 
went  on  regularly  from  father  to  son:  the  cramped 
daily  life — and  the  violent  excesses  in  one  way  or  an- 
other. When  the  Hill  Farm  folks  let  themselves  go, 
they  always  took  a  stride  that  split  their  breeches — so 
people  used  to  say. 

Apart  from  this  the  heritage  was  nothing  to  speak 
of.  There  was  less  and  less  to  take  over,  and  when 
Karen  came  into  it,  every  one  knew  that  her  share  was 
more  vices  than  dollars.  She  had  had  to  raise  a  new 
loan  on  the  farm  simply  to  keep  her  eldest  son  at 
the  seminary. 

No,  the  only  heritage  they  could  be  sure  of  was 
the  crazy  turn  that  showed  up  in  all  the  Hill  Farm 
people.  And  the  strangest  thing  about  this  inheritance 
was  that  it  was  catching:  strangers  who  married  into 
the  family  got  just  as  queer  in  the  head  as  the  people 
of  the  place.  On  the  other  hand,  it  wore  off  with  those 
of  the  children  who  left  home  early  enough;  they  grad- 
ually became  like  other  people;  and  the  casual  off- 
shoots round  about,  they  also  turned  out  well.  So  It 
was  a  queer  twist  that  stuck  to  the  place  itself — a  sort 
of  curse  maybe.  It  had  the  property  of  destroying 
initiative;  the  Hill  Farm  people  did  not  care  to  begin 
anything  new  or  to  keep  up  the  old  either,  but  let  every- 


AMONG  STRANGERS  9 

thing  go  to  the  dogs.  "The  farm  is  going  to  be  moved 
anyhow,"  they  said,  "so  what's  the  use  of  it?" 

Now  there  was  a  widow  in  possession,  a  pretty  sharp 
woman  for  looking  after  things — according  to  Hill 
Farm  ways,  of  course — but  otherwise  a  weird  sort  of 
creature  that  nobody  could  make  out.  She  was  a  good 
deal  talked  about,  and  the  better  part  of  the  family 
kept  her  at  a  distance.  For  money  there  was  none, 
and  it  didn't  add  to  one's  reputation  either  to  be  seen 
about  with  her.  She  revenged  herself  on  them  by  as- 
sociating beneath  her. 

Pride  was  not  one  of  Karen's  faults — nobody  could 
say  that  of  her.  She  made  friends  with  crofters  and 
horse-dealers  and  was  not  afraid  of  going  to  the  la- 
borers' wives'  birthday  coffee  parties  on  the  Common. 
So  it  is  quite  possible  she  had  no  idea  that  she  was  re- 
lated to  the  rag  and  bone  man.  She  hadn't  much  fam- 
ily feeling;  it  was  never  very  strong  among  the  Mans; 
they  had  been  too  long  on  the  earth  and  had  become 
too  numerous  for  that.  They  only  kept  count  of  those 
who  stood  higher  in  the  world  or  who  had  something 
to  leave. 

The  connection  between  the  Naze  and  the  Hill  Farm 
had  worn  rather  thin  in  course  of  time.  They  did  not 
visit  each  other,  but  met  at  intervals  of  years  at  wed- 
dings and  funerals — just  enough  to  know  who  was  alive 
and  who  was  dead.  When  the  sea  had  devoured  so 
much  of  the  Naze  Farm  that  it  degenerated  into  a  small 
holding  and  no  inheritance  could  any  longer  be  ex- 
pected from  that  quarter,  even  this  kind  of  connection 
ceased  of  its  own  accord.     Nobody  thought  of  invit- 


lo  DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

ing  crofters  to  anything;  at  the  most  their  presence 
might  be  tolerated  at  a  funeral.  The  Hill  Farm  people 
no  longer  had  eyes  for  the  quarter  from  whence  they 
had  come. 

It  was  somewhat  different  with  the  inhabitants  of 
the  Naze  cottage.  They  had  their  reasons  for  holding 
on  and  had  managed  in  a  difficult  and  roundabout  fash- 
ion to  find  out  what  went  on  at  the  Farm  over  here — 
though  they  were  not  a  penny  the  better  off  for  it. 
Soren  and  Maren  never  forgot  that  they  had  farmer 
relations  out  here;  that  was  their  weak  point,  and 
they  used  to  boast  about  it  when  things  went  too  hard 
with  them.  Not  that  they  really  expected  anything; 
early  in  life  they  had  both  reached  the  point  where 
they  gave  up  looking  for  gifts  of  fortune. 

All  the  same  there  were  plenty  of  instances  of  a  hun- 
dred dollars  or  even  more  than  that  falling  straight 
into  the  laps  of  poor  people.  Granny  knew  all  about 
such  happenings,  far  beyond  the  borders  of  the  par- 
ish, and  time  after  time  she  would  recount  them  to 
Ditte.  It  was  a  queer  feeling  to  be  rolling  in  good 
fortune  like  this — and  then  to  know  that  she  herself 
would  never  have  any  chance.  "You'll  never  get  a 
prize,  Ditte,"  said  Granny;  "for  you  are  illegitimate, 
and  they  don't  inherit."  "Then  they  don't  have  to 
inherit  all  the  bad  things  either,"  Ditte  answered  with 
a  derisive  nod;  she  had  early  learnt  how  to  console  her- 
self. But  Granny  was  not  quite  so  sure  about  that  as 
she  was  about  the  other  thing. 

Well,  Ditte  didn't  mind  about  not  being  an  heiress — 
she  would  get  on  all  right  just  the  same.     Perhaps  she 


AMONG  STRANGERS  it 

Would  marry  somebody  with  lots  of  money — a  poor 
fellow  whom  she  had  accepted  for  love  and  nothing 
else.  And  then,  when  she  had  said  Yes,  he  would 
throw  off  his  shabby  old  greatcoat  and  appear  in  fine 
clothes.  ^'My  father  is  rich  enough  for  us  both!"  he 
would  say;  "I  only  wanted  to  find  out  if  you  loved 
me  for  my  own  sake."  Or  perhaps  she  would  find 
something  on  the  road,  a  purse  with  lots  of  money 
in  it — which  nobody  had  lost,  so  that  she  would  not 
have  to  give  it  up  to  the  police. — There  were  plenty 
of  other  ways  besides  inheriting.   .   .   . 

Whether  the  Hill  Farm  people  were  aware  of  the 
relationship  or  not — at  any  rate  they  didn't  give  any 
sign  of  it  but  insisted  that  the  new  little  girl  should 
make  herself  useful.  And  after  all  this  was  no  sur- 
prise to  Ditte.  Any  one  would  have  to  be  pretty  low 
down  in  the  world  to  come  up  to  one  of  the  rag  and 
bone  man's  family  and  say.  We're  related,  you  and  L 
All  the  same  it  was  a  secret  satisfaction  to  know  that 
she  had  relations  above  her — it  gave  her  something 
tangible  in  the  direction  of  her  longings.  There  was 
a  beaten  track  to  fortune,  others  of  her  family  had  gone 
along  it  before  her. 

For  the  present,  at  all  events,  the  farm  was  no  dis- 
appointment to  her.  Ditte  was  not  troubled  by  the 
atmosphere  of  gossip  and  bad  repute;  and  there  was 
just  enough  excitement  in  it  to  keep  her  childish  spirit 
from  losing  its  buoyancy.  Ditte  had  promised  her- 
self a  great  deal  in  her  new  world,  so  much  that  she 
shuddered  to  plunge  into  it.  And  for  the  present  she 
had  no  reason  to  feel  that  she  had  been  cheated;  here 


12  DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

were  dark  riddles  enough.  The  darkness  here  seemed 
to  come  to  life  about  one,  sometimes  it  positively  caught 
one  by  the  legs. 

But  the  daylight  had  also  Its  story.  They  kept  a 
cask  of  meat  here  as  at  the  "Crow's  Nest,"  only  much 
bigger;  you  didn't  have  to  run  out  and  buy  something 
for  every  meal.  There  were  hens  here  who  went  and 
laid  their  eggs  in  all  sorts  of  impossible  places;  pigs 
that  stood  stretching  up  all  day  long  with  their  feet 
in  the  trough — which  was  always  empty  no  matter  how 
much  you  poured  into  it;  there  were  young  calves  whose 
eyes  turned  to  strange  blue  lights  in  the  twilight  of 
the  cowshed,  when  they  were  allowed  to  lick  one's  hand. 
Ditte  recognized  it  all  with  an  odd  kind  of  gladness; 
it  gave  her  the  same  sensation  below  the  heart  as  when 
hot  tallow  from  the  candle  ran  over  her  fingers.  The 
milk-strainer  was  hung  up  to  dry  on  the  scullery  door- 
post, and  such  implements  as  the  scythe-sharpener  and 
the  hoe  were  thrust  into  the  eaves  of  the  outhouses. 
The  ax  stuck  fast  in  the  block,  so  fast  that  it  could 
hardly  be  jerked  out,  and  the  scythes  hung  in  the  big 
hawthorn  outside  the  farmyard,  with  the  sharp  blades 
against  the  trunk — all  these  precautions  lest  children 
should  come  to  any  harm. 

This  was  the  "Crow's  Nest"  over  again,  only  much 
bigger.  Even  Pers  the  cat  had  his  absolute  double 
here — a  regular  sluggard  who  lay  all  day  long  on  a 
warm  stone  basking  in  the  sun.  But  at  night  nobody 
saw  him,  except  the  rats  and  mice.  His  likeness  to 
Pers  was  positively  uncanny,  and  he  was  just  as  affec- 
tionate with  her.     It  was  almost  as  if  they  had  known 


AMONG  STRANGERS  13 

each  other  always,  and  if  she  had  not  known  better  .  .  . 
but  then  she  had  herself  seen  the  innkeeper  pounce  on 
Pers  with  his  huge  goblin's  claws  and  shove  him  into 
a  sack — for  stealing  his  fish.  First  he  gave  the  sack 
a  couple  of  whacks  against  the  stone  quay  and  then 
hove  It  into  the  harbor — and  there  were  stones  in  the 
sack.  It  wasn't  even  certain  that  Pers  had  stolen  the 
innkeeper's  fine  plaice :  Fore-and-Aft  Jakob  was  prowl- 
ing about  close  by  and  was.  by  no  means  so  foolish  as 
they  made  out.  At  any  rate  the  "Ogre"  need  not  have 
left  his  basket  on  the  ground.  But  Pers  had  to  die 
— in  spite  of  the  children's  tears.  And  now  it  almost 
seemed  as  if  he  had  risen  from  the  grave.  Even  in 
his  wild  appetite  for  fish  he  was  as  like  the  real  Pers 
as  two  peas.  Every  morning  he  went  down  to  the 
beach  and  jumped  out  on  to  one  of  the  rocks.  There 
he  lay  in  wait  for  flounders  and  other  small  fish  that 
kept  in  the  shallow  water,  and  when  they  came  near 
enough  he  slipped  a  paw  under  them  and  pulled  them 
up  on  to  the  rock.  It  was  funny  to  watch  the  strug- 
gle between  his  fear  of  water  and  his  dainty  appetite 
and  how  it  made  him  shiver  all  over.  That  was  all 
the  fish  he  got,  for  they  never  ate  fish  at  the  Hill  Farm. 
They  thought  it  gave  you  tapeworm. 


CHAPTER  II 
HOMESICKNESS 

EVERY  morning  about  four  Ditte  woke  up  at  the 
sound  of  shambling  footsteps  on  the  cobble- 
stones leading  to  the  door  of  her  little  room. 
This  was  the  middle-aged  day-laborer,  who  always 
called  her  when  he  came  in  the  morning.  Ditte  didn't 
like  him;  his  mouth  was  always  dirty — with  chewing 
tobacco  and  bad  language,  and  they  said  he  was  not 
good  to  his  wife  and  children.  She  was  out  of 
bed  in  a  second.  "I  am  up!"  she  shouted,  hanging 
on  to  the  door-bolt  with  all  her  weight.  If  she 
was  not  before  him,  he  would  push  the  upper  half- 
door  wide  open  and  stand  there  grinning,  with  his 
dirty  mouth  gaping  wide  and  showing  his  black 
teeth. 

As  soon  as  she  heard  him  go  up  to  the  house  again^ 
she  let  go  of  the  bolt  and  slipped  into  her  thin  clothes, 
with  her  heart  beating  wildly  against  her  gray  shift, 
while  she  stood  plaiting  her  hair  and  gazing  out  at 
the  day  through  the  open  half-door.  She  held  one  of 
the  plaits  in  her  mouth  while  her  fingers  were  busy 
with  the  other,  blinking  out  towards  the  sea,  where 
daybreak  lay  sparkling  with  a  thousand  fires.  The 
strong  morning  air  streamed  In  on  her  from  every  side, 
a  strange  blending  of  fragrance,  light  and  freshness, 
and  flowed  through  her  from  t^e  roots  of  her  hair 

14. 


HOMESICKNESS  15 

to  the  tips  of  her  toes.  It  made  her  sneeze  and  drop 
the  plait  out  of  her  mouth. 

Then  she  was  out  on  the  cobblestones,  with  her  hair 
combed  straight  and  two  thin  plaits  hanging  down  her 
back,  rather  blue  with  the  cold  and  wide  awake.  She 
was  like  a  bird  that  suddenly  shoots  out  of  the  dark- 
ness under  the  bushes  and  is  struck  flat  by  the  light. 
She  stole  a  glance  up  at  the  house — and  suddenly 
started  off  round  the  corner. 

**Now  I'm  hanged  if  the  lass  isn't  off  to  the  sea 
again,"  said  the  laborer,  who  was  sitting  in  the  kitchen 
munching  his  breakfast.  "She  must  be  quite  mad  about 
that  water;  one  would  think  she  had  fishes'  blood  in 
her." 

"Well,  let  her,"  answered  the  servant  girl — "it  don't 
hurt  anybody.  Neither  the  mistress  nor  the  son  is 
up  yet." 

Ditte  shot  away  on  her  bare  feet  through  the  sharp 
wet  bent-grass,  right  out  to  the  high  cliff  where  she 
had  the  sea  spread  out  beneath  her,  in  a  marvelous  rose- 
colored  calm  or  gray  and  lashed  into  foam,  according 
to  the  weather.  Which  it  might  be  didn't  matter,  Ditte 
didn't  care  about  the  sea,  not  a  bit.  It  had  never  done 
her  any  good;  it  had  filled  Granddad  with  rheumatism 
and  had  brought  uneasiness  into  Granny's  life  and  her 
own  too.  But  there  was  this  about  it,  that  it  washed 
the  fishing  hamlet  too;  it  was  the  same  water  in  both 
places  and  you  could  have  sailed  there,  if  the  Hill 
Farm  had  had  a  boat.  Ditte  didn't  mind  what  the  sea 
looked  like;  it  had  eaten  up  the  land  at  the  Naze  Farm 
and  made  them  poor,  and  in  stormy  weather  it  had 


i6  DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

shaken  Granny's  cottage  and  sent  its  spray  right  up  to 
its  windows.  She  knew  of  pleasanter  things.  But  if 
she  was  lucky,  she  might  be  in  time  to  see  the  boats 
returning  from  their  night's  fishing.  The  distance  was 
too  great  for  her  to  distinguish  one  from  another;  but 
her  father's  boat  was  among  them  and  she  was  sure 
he  would  be  looking  out  in  her  direction.  She  chose 
one  of  them  for  his  and  followed  it  till  it  disap- 
peared behind  the  Naze,  where  the  fishing  hamlet 
lay  hidden. 

This  kind  of  nonsense  was  not  to  the  taste  of  Karen 
of  the  Hill  Farm,  and  at  first  she  had  tried  to  put  a 
stop  to  it.  But  as  it  was  no  use  and  the  girl  was  well- 
behaved  and  willing  in  other  ways,  she  explained  it 
as  a  sort  of  craze  and  gave  up  fighting  against  it.  The 
child's  father  and  grandfather  and  perhaps  many  more 
generations  had  been  seafaring  men,  so  the  attraction 
was  not  to  be  wondered  at. 

Except  in  this  one  matter  Ditte  was  not  good  at 
asserting  herself;  Lars  Peter's  fear  that  she  might  be 
too  determined  in  standing  up  for  her  rights  aid  so 
make  difficulties  for  herself  proved  to  be  quite  un- 
founded. Ditte's  bravery  did  not  take  this  form;  she 
was  governed  by  one  feeling  only — a  desire  to  suit  her- 
self to  her  surroundings  and  above  all  to  her  mistress, 
and  to  do  her  duty  as  well  as  she  was  able.  An  angry 
word  or  look  was  enough  to  plunge  her  into  black  de- 
spair and  make  her  feel  the  most  wretched  creature  on 
earth. 

Ditte  was  not  one  of  those  who  want  a  thing  said 
twice;  as  a  rule  she  knew  what  to  do  without  being 


HOMESICKNESS  17 

told.  She  came  from  the  lowest  depths — and  was 
therefore  in  the  habit  of  doing  more  than  might  rightly 
be  asked  of  her;  there  is  often  a  fatal  connection  be- 
tween the  two  things.  From  her  birth  it  had  been 
only  too  forcibly  brought  home  to  her  that  she  had 
to  serve  others;  everything  in  her  existence  accorded 
with  this  state  of  things,  and  she  had  a  positive  yearn- 
ing to  make  herself  useful.  If  she  neglected  anything 
it  was  never  intentional. 

And  now  she  was  even  going  to  get  wages  for  her 
work — she  was  grown  up !  For  the  present  she  was 
engaged  to  mind  the  cows  and  sheep  and  for  the  sum- 
mer she  was  to  have  homespun  for  a  dress,  a  pair  of 
wooden  shoes,  a  pound  of  wool,  a  holland  shift — and 
five  crowns  in  cash  if  she  worked  well.  The  innkeeper 
had  settled  it  all  for  them  and  got  his  fee  for  the 
hiring. 

She  did  not  spare  herself,  and  by  the  time  she  drove 
the  cows  on  to  the  Common,  late  in  the  forenoon,  she 
was  already  tired.  She  had  been  up  with  the  sun  and 
had  helped  to  milk  and  get  the  breakfast  for  the  farm 
hands,  had  scoured  pans  and  pails  and  run  after  one 
thing  and  another.  They  were  everlastingly  whistling 
and  calling  for  the  "little  girl";  she  had  to  save  every- 
body's legs. 

But  on  the  Common  she  could  make  up  for  it  by 
taking  things  easily — only  she  had  to  be  careful  not 
to  fall  asleep.  The  Common  was  a  wide,  low-lying 
tract  behind  the  high  coast-line;  the  underground  wa- 
ter which  could  not  escape  into  the  sea  collected  here. 
Originally  it  had  all  been  a  lake,  which  had  become 


1 8  DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

overgrown  in  course  of  time ;  when  the  cows  moved  over 
the  pasture  it  set  up  a  wavy  motion  which  often  spread 
far  on  either  side.  Grass  and  rushes  alternated  with 
swamp  and  low  clumps  of  birch,  aspen  and  alder  where 
the  ground  rose;  each  little  group  of  trees  was  en- 
circled by  its  wreath  of  heather.  The  center  of  the 
little  thicket  was  high  and  dry,  arid  here  Ditte  made 
herself  comfortable  in  cozy  nests  of  dry  rushes  spread 
over  broken  brushwood,  and  she  brought  flowers  and 
last  year's  bullrushes — and  thousand-year-old  mussel- 
shells  which  showed  up  gleaming  white  in  the  coal- 
black  mole-casts.  By  standing  on  the  tips  of  her  toes 
she  could  look  over  the  top  of  the  foliage  and  keep 
an  eye  on  the  cattle — it  was  all  on  such  a  small  scale 
that  she  could  make  herself  quite  snug. 

Here  and  there  were  peat-cuttings.  The  pits  with 
their  black  edges  and  the  dark  bog-water  reminded  her 
of  sorrow  and  death — of  earth  thrown  upon  a  black 
coffin — and  intruded  brutally  upon  the  delicate,  care- 
free shimmer  of  sunshine  and  plant-life  and  humming 
insects.  They  gave  a  note  of  capricious  insecurity  to 
all  existence.  One  might  go  about  here  humming  to 
one's  self — and  suddenly  burst  out  crying,  without  its 
seeming  absurd.  And  that  might  be  just  as  well  now 
and  then. 

There  was  plenty  to  play  with  and  Ditte  busied  her- 
self to  the  best  of  her  ability.  Her  nests  were  full 
of  promising  things  which  she  came  across  while  driv- 
ing the  cattle — speckled  bird's  eggs,  pretty  feathers,  a 
dead  mole  with  the  softest  of  skins.  But  playing  with 
all  these  treasures  was  not  quite  in  her  line ;  she  couldn't 


HOMESICKNESS  19 

make  up  any  story  about  them,  hadn't  the  necessary 
imagination.  She  had  never  had  time  to  play,  and  so 
the  sources  of  it  had  dried  up  within  her.  The  days 
were  long  gone  by  when  Granny  had  only  to  paint  a  face 
on  one  of  Soren  Man's  old  wooden  shoes  and  put  a  cloth 
round  it  for  Ditte  to  find  a  playmate  at  once.  From 
those  days  she  was  separated  by  a  long  and  toilsome 
existence. 

So  she  just  sat  and  looked  at  the  things,  put  one  down 
and  took  up  another — and  was  tired  of  it.  Her  mis- 
tress had  given  her  some  knitting  to  take  out;  she  was 
to  knit  so  many  rows.  She  usually  knitted  twice  as 
much  as  she  need  have  done,  but  still  it  did  not  help 
her  to  kill  time — she  was  too  quick  with  her  fingers. 
And  then  her  thoughts  came  upon  her — her  sad 
thoughts. 

Loneliness  and  the  longing  for  home  lay  heavily  upon 
her — especially  at  first,  and  she  often  cried  the  hours 
away.  She  missed  her  father  and  her  younger  broth- 
ers and  sisters,  and  all  the  little  things  she  had  to  do 
for  them.  Her  head  was  all  too  full  of  worries,  there 
was  always  something  that  troubled  her — had  Povl's 
wooden  shoes  been  mended  before  they  had  gone  too 
far? — did  Sister  Else  still  get  enough  to  eat?  She 
was  so  fond  of  dawdling  over  her  food  and  chatter- 
ing away  the  time,  especially  in  the  morning.  And  then 
all  of  a  sudden  it  was  schooltime  and  she  had  to  leave 
everything  and  run!  She  often  left  her  lunch  behind 
her  and  they  always  had  to  watch  her.  And  her  fa- 
ther— was  there  anybody  to  look  after  him?  Did  he 
get  his  beer  boiling  hot  when  he  came  back  freezing 


20  DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

after  his  night  at  sea?  And  were  his  sea  clothes  prop- 
erly hung  up  to  dry? 

Ditte  could  not  help  thinking  of  all  these  things — 
and  all  in  vain;  her  powerlessness  made  her  cry.  A 
holiday  was  not  to  be  thought  of:  who  would  look 
after  the  cows  and  do  all  the  work  that  was  waiting 
for  her  when  she  brought  them  home  towards  evening? 
And  she  never  had  a  message  from  home.  So  she 
always  imagined  the  worst — her  father  was  drowned, 
or  one  of  the  children  was  ill  and  wanted  nursing.  Her 
little  heart  bled  all  in  vain. 

When  her  loneliness  and  longing  oppressed  her  she 
could  not  bear  to  stay  on  the  low  ground  among  the 
bushes,  but  had  to  go  up  to  the  fields  above,  where  she 
had  a  view  of  the  cottages  across  the  Common,  the 
mill  by  the  farm — and  above  all  the  high  road !  There 
were  always  people  going  along  it;  if  she  was  lucky  she 
might  recognize  somebody  from  the  neighborhood  of 
the  fishing  hamlet.  And  then  it  was  just  as  if  some 
one  had  given  her  a  kindly  thought — it  brought  her 
comfort.     Was  it  God,  perhaps? 

In  Ditte's  world  they  did  not  altogether  believe  in 
God,  but  left  the  question  open.  The  life  of  a  poor 
man  did  not  exactly  furnish  any  obvious  proof  of  his 
existence;  if  there  was  a  God,  he  kept  pretty  much  to 
the  grand  folks.  And  it  was  always  they  who  trotted 
him  out  and  used  his  name  when  they  wanted  to  do 
the  poor  people  down.  That  was  the  way  Granny 
had  looked  at  it — and  Lars  Peter:  the  only  two  Ditte 
had  any  reason  to  trust  fully.  At  any  rate  it  was  no 
use   turning  to   him   with   one's   troubles;   experience 


HOMESICKNESS  21 

showed  that  sufficiently  clearly.  Of  course  the  par- 
son said  you  ought  to  cast  all  your  sorrows  upon  the 
Lord,  but  at  the  same  time  he  gravely  warned  you 
against  giving  him  the  blame  for  your  misery. 

But  Ditte  felt  instinctively  compelled  to  turn  her 
face  up  towards  the  light,  especially  when  any  unex- 
pected good  thing  happened  to  her.  For  the  bad  things 
one  blamed  one's  self — since  they  were  not  to  be 
avoided;  but  one  had  to  have  somewhere  to  turn  in 
one's  gratitude.  And  so  it  came  to  be  Heaven,  after 
all.  Anyhow  Granny  was  up  there,  for  she  was  in 
Heaven,  there  couldn't  be  any  doubt  about  that,  hnå 
so,  perhaps,  she  would  have  to  find  room  there  for  God 
too — for  Granny's  sake!  Ditte  thought  a  great  deal 
about  Granny  at  this  time,  and  sometimes  even  called 
to  her  aloud.  She  felt  the  need  of  one,  at  any  rate, 
who  could  see  how  sorrowful  she  was. 

One  day,  when  she  was  lying  in  her  most  unhappy 
mood,  Granny  suddenly  stood  bending  over  her. 
"Come  now,  little  Ditte,"  she  said,  "we're  going  to 
fly  home  to  the  hamlet."  "But  you  haven't  any  wings," 
said  Ditte,  crying  worse  than  ever,  for  Granny  was 
more  humpbacked  than  before.  "That  doesn't  mat- 
ter, child,  we'll  just  draw  our  legs  well  up  under  us — 
right  up  under  our  skirts  I"  And  then  they  really  flew, 
up  over  the  hills  and  down  through  the  dales;  when 
they  came  too  near  the  ground,  they  just  drew  their 
legs  still  higher  up  under  their  skirts.  And  all  of  a 
sudden  they  were  over  the  hamlet;  Lars  Peter  stood 
below  with  a  big  net  ready  to  catch  them.  "Ditte !" 
he  called  out. 


22  DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

Ditte  woke  and  jumped  up  in  a  fright;  somebody 
was  calling  to  her  from  the  fields  above.  It  was  Karl, 
the  son  at  the  Hill  Farm,  and  he  was  driving  the  cows 
out  of  the  corn.  She  was  paralyzed  with  fright  and 
hadn't  even  the  sense  to  run  and  help  him.  Then  he 
came  slowly  down  towards  her;  he  always  dragged  his 
feet  heavily  when  he  walked,  as  if  he  was  tired  of 
everything.  "You  must  have  fallen  asleep,"  he  said 
— with  a  touch  of  sarcasm.  Then  he  noticed  that  she 
had  been  crying  and  looked  at  her  seriously;  but  said 
nothing. 

Ditte  was  ashamed  of  having  cried  and  slept,  and 
hastily  wiped  the  tears  from  her  face.  Not  that  she 
was  afraid  of  him;  he  was  an  inoffensive  young  man  of 
seventeen — a  comical  age  for  a  fellow,  she  thought.  It 
was  difficult  to  take  him  seriously,  although  he  was  the 
son  and  therefore  the  real  master  of  the  farm;  well, 
he  didn't  expect  it  either,  but  only  wanted  to  be  left 
in  peace.  He  went  to  prayer  meetings,  perhaps  she 
could  ask  him  .  .  .  ?  Ditte  did  not  altogether  like 
Granny's  not  having  any  wings. 

"Do  you  think  old  women  get  into  Heaven?"  she 
asked,  turning  half  away;  it  was  a  silly  sort  of  ques- 
tion to  ask  all  the  same. 

"I'm  sure  I  don't  know,"  he  answered  slowly.  "I 
suppose  it  depends  on  what  they  have  been  like."  He 
stared  in  front  of  him  with  a  look  of  profound  reflec- 
tion, as  though  it  had  to  be  thought  out  thoroughly,  so 
as  not  to  do  any  one  an  injustice. 

Well,  Granny  had  been  good — better  than  anybody 
could  say.     So  if  that  was  all  it  depended  on  .  .  . 


HOMESICKNESS  23 

He  stood  a  while  staring  at  the  same  spot  and  pon- 
dering. "We  must  not  judge — either  one  way  or  the 
other,"  he  said  with  a  deep  sigh. 

Ditte  burst  out  laughing;  he  looked  so  comic  when 
he  sighed. 

"It's  nothing  to  laugh  at,"  he  said,  and  went  away 
offended. 

A  little  way  off  he  stopped.  "You  may  be  glad  it 
wasn't  Mother  who  came  and  found  the  cows  in  the 
corn,"  he  said. 

"Why,  aren't  you  going  to  tell  your  mother?"  Ditte 
asked  in  astonishment — it  had  never  occurred  to  her 
that  she  would  get  off  free. 

"No,  why  should  I?" 

Well,  why?  Why  indeed? — "But  the  farm  is  to  be 
yours,"  It  suddenly  struck  her. 

"Well — yes!"  He  smiled  a  little  at  the  Idea — ^to 
Ditte's  great  surprise.  She  had  never  thought  he 
could. 

She  stood  looking  after  him  and  quite  forgot  all 
her  own  troubles.  He  walked  like  an  old  man — or 
one  born  under  a  curse.  He  couldn't  have  had  much 
joy  In  life — It  was  said  that  his  mother  still  used  to 
beat  him.  And  far  worse  things  than  that  were  said ! 
DItte  shuddered — she  refused  to  think  about  It  all. 

But  it  wasn't  always  so  easy  to  escape  It.  The 
women  from  the  Common  would  find  an  excuse  to  come 
across  and  question  her,  apparently  about  quite  Inno- 
cent things.  And  when  they  had  got  an  answer,  they 
nodded  and  pursed  their  Ups — as  though  they  had 
heard  the  most  terrible  things  confirmed.     But  DItte 


24  DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

was  not  inclined  to  gossip  about  the  people  she  served; 
she  determined  to  keep  guard  on  her  tongue. 

One  day  she  sat  watching  the  road,  in  the  hope  of 
catching  sight  of  some  acquaintance.  A  couple  came 
driving  past,  a  farmer  and  his  wife — no  doubt  going 
to  town  to  do  some  shopping.  They  beckoned  to  her 
and  pulled  up;  she  did  not  know  them,  but  ran  up  all 
the  same. 

Had  she  seen  a  one-horse  trap  go  by,  with  a  big 
bay  mare — a  good  while  ago?  She  hadn't?  Where 
did  she  belong?  Weren't  those  the  Hill  Farm  cattle 
she  was  minding? — they  thought  they  knew  them. — 
They  fed  you  well  there,  didn't  they? — or  was  it  only 
so-so? — How  was  it  now — the  farm  belonged  to  a 
widow,  didn't  it?  Yes,  now  they  remembered,  Karen 
Bakkegaards  ^  she  was  called,  and  she  lost  her  hus- 
band about  ten  years  ago — what  a  sad  thing!  But 
she  didn't  break  her  heart  over  it,  not  she. — Wasn't 
there  a  son  of  hers  at  the  farm — and  a  regular  day- 
laborer? — yes,  of  course,  it  was  Rasmus  Rytter  from 
the  Common  here.  Did  he  sleep  at  the  farm? — oh,  he 
went  home  at  night.  But  perhaps  he  stayed  some- 
times— when  there  was  a  lot  of  work  to  be  done? 

They  questioned  her  by  turns  and  Ditte  answered 
in  all  good  faith.  But  when  the  woman  wanted  to 
know  about  the  arrangements  indoors  and  asked  where 
Karen  Bakkegaards  had  her  bedroom  and  whether 
she  slept  alone  in  the  house,  Ditte  pricked  up  her  ears. 
Something  in  the  woman's  face  told  her  that  she  had 
made  a  fool  of  herself  again,  a  regular  silly  fool.    Sud- 

^  Bakkegaard  =  Hill  Farm. 


HOMESICKNESS  25 

denly  she  left  the  cart  and  dashed  off  into  the  meadow; 
then  turned  round  and  made  faces  at  them,  boiling 
with  rage.  "You're  nothing  but  a  pair  of  dirty  liars!" 
she  screamed  hoarsely.  "And  you  must  be  nasty  your- 
selves, or  you  wouldn't  be  such  gossipmongers  I"  The 
farmer  threatened  her  with  his  whip  and  made  as 
though  he  would  jump  out  of  the  cart.  But  Ditte 
ran,  up  along  the  bank  and  across  the  fields.  When 
she  got  to  the  marshland  she  lay  down  and  recovered 
her  breath  and  was  quite  terrified  at  what  she  had 
done.  Supposing  they  came  after  her !  Farmers  were 
not  the  sort  to  trifle  with,  they  always  had  the  law  on 
their  side.  Perhaps  they  would  go  straight  to  the 
authorities  and  complain  about  her  when  they  got  to 
town. 

She  couldn't  get  rid  of  this  thought,  it  kept  work- 
ing in  her  and  filled  her  with  dismay.  Who  was  there 
to  help  her,  in  her  terribly  forsaken  state?  There 
was  nothing  for  it — she  must  go  home ! 

It  had  happened  to  Ditte  before  that  she  had  had 
to  leave  everything  and  rush  off  across  the  fields.  Then 
she  was  like  one  possessed,  so  that  she  didn't  even  think 
of  taking  the  road,  but  ran  straight  across  country. 
Presently  something  or  other  stopped  her — she  ran 
into  a  swamp  or  was  caught  among  thorns;  her  bare 
feet  were  bleeding  and  there  were  great  rents  in  her 
dress.  The  fit  had  passed  off  and  she  had  to  pay  for 
it;  she  crept  back  feeling  very  small  and  set  herself  to 
bathe  her  wounded  feet  and  mend  her  dress — thank- 
ful that  the  damage  was  no  worse. 

After  one  of  these  desperate  races  she  had  peace. 


26  DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

Her  ungovernable  homesickness  had  worked  itself  out, 
and  as  she  sat  on  the  edge  of  the  swamp  with  her  sore 
feet  in  the  water,  sewing  at  her  dress,  everything  sank 
within  her.  All  her  rebelliousness  slipped  away  and  left 
a  little  woman  filled  with  the  sweet  languor  that  comes 
of  a  good  cry.  For  a  little  while  she  need  think  of 
nothing  and  could  abandon  herself  freely  to  her  own 
concerns.  She  sat  marveling  at  herself,  and  examined 
her  legs,  one  of  which  had  a  birthmark  high  up  on  the 
thigh,  and  her  slender  sunburnt  arms.  Sun  and  wind 
had  tanned  her  all  over  through  her  thin  clothes.  But 
she  didn't  like  her  color  and  stretched  herself  in  the 
shallow,  tepid  water  to  wash  the  moldiness  away.  It 
had  collected  on  her  skin  like  old  shadows. 

Below  her  navel  ran  a  dark  stripe  which  she  re- 
membered of  old,  for  Granny  had  noticed  it  when  Ditte 
was  little  and  had  prophesied  that  she  would  be  apt 
to  have  children  and  lots  of  them.  But  under  her 
armpits  there  was  a  little  reddish  curly  hair,  and  that 
was  new  and  exciting.  Ditte  took  her  growing  breasts 
in  her  hands  and  was  quite  proud  to  find  how  heavy  they 
were  already — especially  when  she  bent  forward.  But 
then  her  back  didn't  please  her,  the  action  made  a 
whole  row  of  knobs  stand  out  on  it.  She  would  have 
given  something  to  be  able  to  see  herself  from  behind, 
to  know  whether  her  back  was  still  crooked. 

Suddenly  she  would  be  seized  by  a  fear  that  some- 
body might  come  or  that  somebody  might  be  spying 
on  her  from  the  fields  above.  She  snatched  her  clothes 
and  fled  shrieking  into  the  bushes  to  dress  herself. 

There  was  nothing  much  to  spy  upon,  after  all — a 


HOMESICKNESS  27 

loose-limbed  figure  that  belonged  neither  to  a  child  nor 
to  a  grown-up  girl  and  certainly  had  no  power  of  re- 
flecting the  daylight  in  a  warm  glow !  Ditte  was 
scarcely  destined  to  turn  the  head  of  any  man.  The 
most  beautiful  thing  about  her  was  still  her  heart — 
and  that  is  not  in  demand.  Nature  has  therefore 
wisely  ordained  that  it  shall  be  hidden  well  out  of  the 
way. 


CHAPTER  III 
DITTE'S  MISTRESS 

KAREN  BAKKEGAARDS  and  Ditte  were  in  the 
scullery  after  dinner  mixing  rye-meal  and  plas- 
ter of  Paris  for  the  rats;  all  the  others  were 
taking  their  midday  nap,  the  servant  girl  Sine  too. 
Karen  stood  stirring  the  dry  mixture  together;  she  was 
heavy  in  her  movements,  and  every  time  she  changed 
her  position  her  body  gave  off  a  strong  smell  which  hurt 
Ditte's  nose  and  made  her  shudder.  The  mixture  was 
put  up  in  little  paper  packets,  which  Ditte  then  placed 
in  the  worst  rat-holes  in  the  barn  and  threshing-floor — 
there  were  plenty  of  them.  The  farm  was  still,  with 
a  stillness  that  made  one  sleepy;  Ditte  had  been  up 
early  and  could  have  lain  down  on  the  stone  floor  and 
dropped  off  to  sleep. 

"There" — her  mistress  gave  her  the  last  packets  in 
her  apron.  "When  they've  got  through  all  that  they're 
not  likely  to  ask  for  any  more." 

"Is  it  very  poisonous?"  asked  Ditte. 

"Poisonous — no,  it's  the  most  harmless  stuff  in  the 
world,  as  far  as  that  goes.  But  when  the  rats  have 
had  their  fill  of  it,  they  have  to  go  straight  off  and 
drink — for  it's  dry  eating,  you  see.  And  as  soon  as 
the  water  gets  to  the  plaster  it  turns  it  stiff.  Just  like 
a  lump  of  stone  in  their  bellies — that's  how  it's 
done!" 

28 


DITTE'S  MISTRESS  29 

Ditte  gave  a  little  horrified  moan.  "Oh,  but  it  must 
be  a  frightful  death,"  she  said. 

Karen  swayed  from  side  to  side  in  annoyance. 
"Pooh! — why  should  it  be?  The  main  thing  is  to 
get  rid  of  the  vermin,  so  it  doesn't  matter  how  it's 
done.  There  are  many  kinds  of  death,  and  they  all 
lead  the  same  way.  .  .  .  When  is  it  you're  expecting 
your  mother  to  come  out?" 

The  question  took  Ditte  by  surprise  and  hurt  her 
— chiefly  perhaps  on  account  of  th;  line  of  thought 
it  betrayed.  "It  will  be  a  little  while  yet,"  she  whis- 
pered. 

"Do  you  think  she  got  hold  of  the  money?"  Karen 
went  on;  she  was  in  a  talkative  mood  to-day. 

Ditte  didn't  know.  She  would  have  liked  best  to 
have  held  her  tongue ;  that  was  what  she  generally 
did  when  any  one  questioned  her  about  the  crime,  but 
her  mistress  had  to  be  answered.  "Granny  had  it  on 
her,"  she  said  quietly. 

"Yes,  stupid  fool!  She  ought  to  have  put  it  in  the 
savings  bank  and  not  sat  hatching  it.  Then  you'd 
have  had  it  now — for  it  was  to  come  to  you.  And 
there'd  have  been  much  more  of  it  too."  Karen  reck- 
oned it  up.  "Five  hundred  dollars  it  would  have  come 
to  now — a  thousand  crowns!  A  lot  of  money  for  a 
poor  girl  like  you,  when  you  came  to  get  married.  The 
Sands  Farm  people  must  have  had  a  fair  bit — that's 
where  it  came  from,  wasn't  it?" 

Ditte  was  longing  to  slip  out;  the  subject  tortured 
her,  and  the  acrid  smell — of  sweat  and  other  things — 
that  surrounded  her  mistress,  took  away  her  breath. 


30  DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

She  felt  giddy  and  faint  standing  close  to  this  stout 
female,  whose  tread  was  so  heavy  and  who  took  such 
a  firm  grasp  of  everything — she  felt  like  some  tiny 
creature  that  might  at  any  moment  be  trodden  upon  in- 
advertently. "Shall  I  drive  the  cows  out  now?"  she 
asked,  making  for  the  duor. 

Karen  glanced  at  the  grandfather's  clock  in  the  next 
room.  "Yes,  you  run  off  now — but  call  Rasmus  Rytter 
first." 

That  was  the  worst  thing  Ditte  could  be  asked  to 
do.  She  was  terrified  of  Rasmus,  and  it  was  impos- 
sible to  wake  him.  They  used  to  say  it  was  a  trick 
of  his — he  slept  so  soundly  just  to  make  the  girls  come 
right  up  to  him.  Sine  came  out  of  her  room  behind 
the  scullery  and  Ditte  looked  beseechingly  at  her,  but 
the  girl  was  scarcely  awake  yet  and  did  not  under- 
stand. "Cut  off  with  you;  what  are  you  waiting  for?" 
said  the  mistress. 

Ditte  crossed  the  yard  slowly  and  hesitatingly  and 
began  calling  through  the  open  barn-door;  Karen 
Bakkegaards  stood  at  the  scullery-door  watching  her 
movements  attentively.  "Look  at  the  silly  girl,"  she 
said  in  annoyance;  "I'm  blessed  if  she  don't  think  she 
can  bring  the  man  to  life  with  shouting." 

"She's  afraid  of  him,"  said  Sine  with  reluctance; 
she  didn't  like  this  business. 

"Afraid — pooh!  I'll  teach  her  to  give  herself  airs! 
— You've  got  to  climb  right  up  to  him  in  the  hay 
and  give  him  a  shake;  but  take  care  he  don't  pull  off 
your  cherub's  wings,"  she  cried  derisively. 

Ditte  was  still  standing  at  the  barn-door;  she  glanced 


DITTE'S  MISTRESS  31 

doubtfully  from  the  dark  barn  to  her  mistress  and 
back  again.  "Shall  I  have  to  come  and  help  you?" 
Karen  called.  Then  at  last  she  slipped  inside,  but  it 
was  evident  that  she  was  just  hiding. 

Karen  fumbled  with  her  wooden  shoes;  she  was  so 
wild  that  she  couldn't  get  into  them.  Now  she'd  give 
the  girl  a  lesson !  But  Sine  was  already  across  the 
yard.  "Just  you  get  the  cows  out  and  clear  off,  I'll 
call  him,"  she  said,  and  pushed  Ditte  out  of  the  barn 
on  the  other  side.  Her  mistress  was  in  no  very  gra- 
cious mood  when  she  came  back:  Such  nonsense;  the 
idea  of  having  to  put  up  with  the  likes  of  that.  You 
got  nothing  but  hysterical  nincompoops  nowadays,  who 
shrieked  if  they  saw  an  earwig.  It  did  them  good  to 
learn  something  in  time — girls  of  that  sort!  But  Sine 
was  used  to  this  and  took  no  notice ;  her  mistress  might 
keep  on  as  long  as  she  liked,  she  was  bound  to  get  tired 
sooner  or  later. 

And  this  time  Karen  came  to  a  full  stop  fairly  soon. 
Suddenly  they  heard  the  rumbling  of  a  cart;  it  came 
down  over  the  hill  at  a  tremendous  pace,  swung  into 
the  yard  and  up  to  the  front  door  without  drawing 
rein.  The  driver  pulled  up  with  a  jerk  and  cracked  his 
whip  gaily;  he  was  a  dealer.  "Is  there  anything  for 
sale  to-day?"  he  called  to  Karen  Baldcegaards,  who  was 
standing  at  the  scullery-door  putting  on  her  wooden 
shoes. 

"Yes,  we  have  a  fat  calf,"  she  replied,  coming  for- 
ward. 

Ditte  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  visitor  as  she  let  the 
cows  out  of  the  shed,  but  she  would  have  known  him 


32  DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

by  the  noise  he  made — nobody  else  drove  like  that. 
It  was  Uncle  Johannes,  and  he  was  in  a  stiff  hat  and 
a  fine  brown  dust-coat — a  regular  town  outfit.  He  was 
not  doing  so  badly,  anyhow ! 

Ditte  knew  something  of  what  it  meant  to  be  talked 
about.  Her  people  had  never  been  able  to  get  away 
from  it,  the  shadow  followed  them  wherever  they  went. 
"Ah,  that's  the  rag  and  bone  man's  girl — the  folks  who 
used  to  be  at  Sands  Farm,"  people  would  say,  and  put 
such  a  lot  into  the  expression.  Then  they  knew  all 
about  it  and  the  gossip  was  well  started — about  Maren 
the  witch,  and  Sorine  Man's  crime,  and  the  dog  butcher. 
Ditte  knew  it  all  only  too  well;  it  was  easy  enough 
to  see  when  people  were  talking  about  you.  As  a  rule 
they  didn't  take  any  trouble  to  hide  it. 

And  you  may  be  sure  they  didn't  leave  anything 
out.  The  rag  and  bone  man's  family  had  to  answer 
for  a  good  deal  more  than  could  justly  be  laid  at  their 
door,  and  much  more  than  they  cared  about.  No- 
body grudged  them  anything  in  this  way.  Rumors, 
which  nobody  would  answer  for  and  nobody  really 
believed  in  either,  cropped  up  casually,  went  their  round 
and  disappeared  again — and  every  one  took  a  delight 
in  passing  them  on.  It  seemed  as  if  the  injustice  peo- 
ple had  done  to  the  rag  and  bone  man  were  the  cause 
of  their  hatred.  Perhaps  they  wanted  to  find  an  ac- 
ceptable excuse  for  their  ill-feeling  towards  the  fam- 
ily and  quieted  their  evil  conscience  by  inventing  every 
possible  bad  thing  about  them;  in  his  tireless  struggle 
against  the  light  man  is  wont  to  look  for  the  source 


DITTE'S  MISTRESS  33 

of  evil  outside  himself.  In  any  case  Lars  Peter  and 
his  belongings  were  pariahs,  once  and  for  all;  they  were 
to  be  bullied  to  make  up  for  their  ill-success.  In  this 
case  there  was  no  need  to  keep  very  close  to  the  truth — 
for  we  know  that  reality  surpasses  the  wildest  imagi- 
nation. Besides  the  family  were  entitled  to  put  all 
evil  reports  to  shame  by  their  conduct. 

They  used  this  right  to  the  best  of  their  ability,  with 
industry,  orderly  behavior  and  fair  dealing.  It  had 
often  been  difficult  enough  to  adapt  one's  self  to  exist- 
ence without  giving  public  opinion  a  handle  against  one; 
and  Ditte  could  not  understand  how  other  people  could 
be  so  indifferent  about  what  was  said  of  them.  Her 
mistress  was  also  talked  about;  but  she  took  no  trouble 
to  shame  the  gossips,  not  she.  She  was  not  humbled 
by  what  they  said,  but  rather  looked  down  on  other 
people;  she  laughed  at  what  they  said  and  did  exactly 
as  she  pleased.  Ditte  did  not  understand  this  con- 
tempt for  everything  decent  and  nice;  it  must  be  what 
was  meant  by  taking  pride  in  one's  disgrace. 

Although  Karen  Bakkegaards  had  been  a  widow  for 
some  ten  years,  her  married  life  was  still  constantly 
talked  about.  She  had  been  a  good  and  attractive  girl 
when  young,  and  there  was  nothing  against  the  man 
she  married  either;  it  could  even  be  said  that  he  was  a 
God-fearing  man.  But,  whatever  the  reason  may  have 
been,  whether  they  did  not  suit  each  other,  or  other 
forces  were  at  work — her  marriage  left  her  quite  a 
different  woman  from  her  former  self.  Some  thought 
that  the  marriage  had  been  like  an  ill-assorted  pair  of 
horses,  each  of  them  good  in  single  harness,  and  that 


34  DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

they  had  spoilt  each  other.  Others  stuck  to  it  that 
there  was  bad  blood  in  the  family,  and  that  it  came 
out  when  she  had  reached  the  right  age.  It  wasn't  the 
first  time  one  had  seen  first-rate  girls  turn  into  crazy 
scolds  when  they  had  a  house  and  home  to  look  after. 
At  any  rate  they  hated  each  other  as  only  man  and 
wife  can  hate,  and  they  poisoned  each  other's  existence 
whenever  they  had  the  chance.  And  at  this  game  she 
came  out  best.  For  the  farm  was  hers,  so  she  could 
easily  make  him  feel  that  he  hadn't  brought  anything 
into  it.  And  she  didn't  mind  letting  him  know  what 
a  pauper  he  was  when  everybody  could  hear  it.  They 
had  three  sons  all  the  same,  so  there  must  have  been 
moments  now  and  then  when  they  were  not  altogether 
cat  and  dog.  But  they  can't  have  been  so  very 
many. 

After  they  had  been  married  some  years  he  got  con- 
sumption— from  not  being  able  to  get  even  with  her, 
some  said,  while  others  had  it  that  she  had  intention- 
ally given  him  damp  sheets  to  sleep  in.  Whether  from 
regret  or  some  other  reason,  she  bought  brandy  and 
sweet  punch  to  give  him  pluck  with  the  beasts,  and 
drank  with  him  herself  to  make  him  take  more.  And 
she  succeeded,  too,  in  killing  the  consumption,  but  the 
man  was  a  wreck.  To  begin  with  he  had  never  been 
able  to  touch  strong  drink,  and  now  he  always  went 
about  fuddled.  "My  wife's  so  fond  of  me  that  she 
keeps  me  in  spirits,"  he  used  to  say;  and  then  Karen 
laughed  in  a  way  that  folks  never  forgot. 

This  was  not  a  pleasant  home  for  the  boys  to  grow 
up  in,  and  it  almost  came  as  a  relief  to  them  when, 


DITTE'S  MISTRESS  35 

one  winter's  morning,  they  found  their  father  hanging 
in  the  barn.  So  they  were  fatherless  and  the  farm 
had  no  master.  And  a  widow's  bed  strikes  rather 
colder  than  a  marriage  bed — even  if  they  lie  back  to 
back;  Karen  would  have  been  quite  ready  to  marry 
again,  especially  if  she  could  thereby  have  got  a  little 
more  money  for  the  farm. 

But  nobody  was  quite  bold  enough  to  take  the  place 
of  the  suicide;  and  so  it  was  that  she  had  to  struggle 
with  everything  and  with  her  three  sons  too.  This 
didn't  improve  her  temper,  and  as  the  sons  grew  up 
and  wanted  to  have  a  say,  she  got  on  worse  and  worse 
with  them.  So  they  began  to  leave  home ;  the  eldest 
studied  for  a  teacher  and  now  had  a  school  near  the 
capital;  the  second  took  a  place  as  a  farm  hand.  If 
he  had  to  obey  others,  he  said,  then  he  preferred  to 
be  under  strangers. 

People  thought  it  a  strange  thing  to  say.  Was  there 
anything  more  natural  for  a  son  than  to  submit  to  his 
mother  and  obey  her — if  he  was  fond  of  her,  of  course. 
But,  whatever  may  have  been  the  reason,  the  sons  at 
the  Hill  Farm  had  no  liking  for  their  mother.  Only 
the  youngest,  Karl,  stayed  at  home,  not  because  he  liked 
it  any  better  than  the  others,  but  because  he  hadn't 
the  power  to  shake  himself  free  of  his  mother's  rule. 
He  was  a  poor  creature,  ready  to  cry  if  you  looked  at 
him.  He  never  laughed,  but  always  went  about  with  a 
look  of  weariness  and  guilt.  It  was  whispered  thut  his 
mother  had  an  unnatural  power  over  him,  and  thar  it 
was  remorse  for  this  that  sat  heavy  on  him  and  drove 
him  to  the  prayer  meetings. 


26  DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

Ditte  had  sharp  ears — she  heard  everything  that 
was  said.  A  lot  of  it  she  didn't  understand,  but  she 
interpreted  it  in  her  own  way,  and  together  with  the 
daily  life  it  made  up  an  oppressive  feeling  which  was 
always  hanging  over  her.  Nothing  was  comfortable 
at  the  Hill  Farm;  they  all  kept  their  thoughts  to  them- 
selves and  there  was  no  room  for  sharing  any  joy. 
The  mistress  blamed  the  sea  for  it,  that  cursed  sea; 
when  she  had  had  a  drop  too  much  she  would  come 
out  into  the  farmyard  and  let  herself  go  about  it.  But 
her  son  thought  that  God  had  turned  his  face  away 
from  the  farm.  Sine  alone  was  rosy-cheeked  and  un- 
concerned and  went  about  her  work  without  bothering; 
and  Ditte  liked  her  company  best. 

With  her  mistress  she  didn't  know  how  to  get  on. 
She  offered  her  a  genuine,  natural  respect,  since  her 
mistress  was  the  providence  from  whom  everything, 
good  as  well  as  evil,  was  derived;  hers  was  the  hand 
that  chastened  and  that  graciously  provided  food.  And 
Karen  was  generous  about  food— as  a  good  farm  wife 
should  be ;  she  was  always  going  about  with  a  carving- 
knife  in  her  hand,  and  there  were  big  grease-stains  on 
her  protruding  stomach.  She  was  greedy  herself  and 
did  not  grudge  the  others  their  food.  This  made  up 
for  a  good  deal;  the  Hill  Farm  had  a  name  for  a  good 
larder.  But  there  were  so  many  other  odors  given 
off  by  her  powerful  frame  which  turned  Ditte's  head 
and  made  her  shudder. 

Ditte  had  been  taught  that  she  ought  not  only  to  do 
her  duty  by  those  whose  bread  she  ate,  but  also  to  be 
fond  of  them.     She  did  her  duty  to  the  full,  but  it  was 


DITTE'S  MISTRESS  37 

not  in  her  to  be  fond  of  her  mistress.  Even  when  she 
sat  out  in  the  meadows  eating  her  good  lunch,  she  could 
not  get  so  far  as  that.  She  felt  that  she  was  in  a  way 
disloyal  and  was  sorry  about  it. 


CHAPTER  IV 
A  WELCOME  VISITOR 

DITTE  had  finished  her  knitting,  and  had  emp- 
tied her  basket,  although  *it  was  not  near  the 
lunch  hour;  but  it  passed  the  time — and  time 
was  heavy  on  her  hands.  It  was  the  loneliness  that 
was  so  difficult  to  get  through;  she  didn't  care  about 
playing  and  wasn't  made  for  it  either — not  now,  at  any 
rate,  and  the  beasts  were  no  company.  She  was  in- 
terested in  them  as  far  as  her  duty  went,  took  care 
that  they  didn't  do  any  damage  or  come  to  any  harm 
themselves,  and  she  was  fond  of  them  In  a  way.  She 
showed  it  especially  when  some  young  calf  or  other 
had  got  hurt,  by  chafing  Itself  against  the  wire  fence 
or  by  a  scratch  from  the  horns  of  one  of  the  older 
beasts.  Then  she  was  really  busy  and  could  not  do 
enough  as  long  as  there  was  need.  But  she  never  got 
intimate  with  them;  cows  were  cows  and  sheep  were 
sheep — just  like  nature  In  general;  a  thing  one  took  for 
granted.  Their  affairs  only  concerned  her  so  far  as 
they  were  part  of  her  daily  work;  they  might  be  funny 
enough  at  times — the  beasts — ^but  she  didn't  see  so 
very  much   In   them. 

Ditte  was  a  sociable  little  body;  she  liked  to  hear 
a  couple  of  voices  chattering  all  the  time,  and  one  of 
them  had  to  be  her  own.  It  was  at  least  as  amusing 
to  talk  one's  self  as  to  listen — if  only  one  had  some- 

38 


A  WELCOME  VISITOR  39 

body  to  talk  to.  She  sat  up  at  the  top  end  of  the  field 
looking  out  over  the  landscape,  sick  at  heart  of  tedium 
and  longing.  'Tf  only  something  would  happen,  some- 
thing really  amusing!"  she  thought,  and  repeated  it 
aloud  again  and  again,  as  though  to  fill  the  void.  And 
suddenly  she  was  silent,  stretching  forward.  She 
would  not  believe  her  eyes  and  shut  them  tight;  but 
when  she  opened  them,  there  it  was  again.  Far  away 
down  the  highroad  a  boy  came  running;  he  turned  into 
the  meadows,  shouting  and  making  signs.  He  had  his 
bag  of  school-books  over  his  shoulder!  Ditte  was  too 
much  taken  aback  to  run  and  meet  him,  but  sat  where 
she  was  and  burst  out  crying,  she  was  so  happy. 

Kristian  threw  himself  down  on  the  grass  at  her  feet, 
said  nothing  but  just  lay  panting.  "You've  played 
truant,"  said  Ditte  as  soon  as  she  had  collected  her- 
self— trying  to  look  severe.  But  she  couldn't  hit  the 
right  tone;  to-day  she  was  more  inclined  to  be  grate- 
ful to  the  runaway.  And  the  rascal  put  out  his  tongue 
for  an  answer.  Nor  did  he  make  any  reply  to  all  the 
questions  she  asked,  but  lay  getting  his  breath,  with 
the  black  soles  of  his  bare  feet  sticking  up  in  the  air. 
They  had  all  kinds  of  marks  on  them;  there  was  a 
deep  cut  in  one  heel,  most  likely  from  a  piece  of 
glass  he  had  trodden  on.  Ditte  examined  the  wound, 
which  was  black  with  dirt.  "You  must  have  a  rag 
on  that,"  she  said,  pressing  It  slightly;  "or  else  it'll 
gather." 

"Pooh — it's  only  something  I  did  yesterday  when  I 
ran  home  from  school,  it's  healed  already.  I  only  run 
on  my  toes!" 


40  DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

He  was  on  his  feet  again;  he  had  not  come  to  lie 
down  and  be  lazy.  He  took  a  rapid  survey  of  the 
ground.  "Let's  go  down  there,"  he  said,  pointing  to 
the  marsh;  it  was  not  exciting  up  here. 

Ditte  showed  him  her  hiding-place  in  the  bushes. 
"That's  fun,"  Kristian  admitted;  "but  the  entrance 
ought  to  be  hidden,  so  that  nobody  can  find  the  nest — 
or  else  there  isn't  anything  in  it.  That's  the  way  every 
bird  does,  you  know."  Well,  Ditte  was  not  a  bird 
and  didn't  want  to  hide;  she  was  only  thinking  about 
the  sun  and  the  wind.  But  Kristian  showed  her  how 
to  intertwine  the  branches  so  that  the  entrance  could 
not  be  seen  at  all.  "Then  you  can  play  at  being  some 
one  who  has  done  something  and  has  to  hide,"  he  said. 
Ditte  looked  at  h'm  in  surprise ;  she  could  not  make  out 
what  pleasure  there  could  be  in  that. 

But  how  crazy  he  was  about  everything,  that  boy. 
Even  in  the  quiet,  passive  cows  he  saw  something  new. 
Ditte's  mind  had  never  found  much  to  feed  upon  in 
these  meadows,  but  Kristian  looked  at  everything  in 
wonder — as  though  it  had  just  dropped  from  the  sky 
and  wasn't  all  familiar  and  a  matter  of  course. 

The  little  pools  made  him  quite  beside  himself.  The 
first  thing  to  be  done  was  to  make  a  bridge  over  to  one 
of  the  many  tufts — islands,  he  called  them.  This  was 
done  with  the  help  of  a  couple  of  poles  and  some  birch 
twigs;  Ditte  had  to  find  the  materials.  In  this  way 
you  could  connect  all  the  islands  with  one  another  and 
travel  right  round  the  world. 

"This  is  fine !"  he  said,  and  repeated  it  so  often  that 
Ditte  was  quite  irritated  at  last. 


A  WELCOME  VISITOR  41 

"I  think  It's  nicer  at  home,"  she  said. 

"That's  because  you're  a  silly,"  Kristian  answered. 
"But  you  can  come  home  and  stay  there  instead  of 
me." 

He  had  never  talked  to  her  like  this  before;  but 
here  she  was  so  decidedly  insignificant  that  all  her  self- 
respect  had  vanished.  No,  she  would  not  have  minded 
changing  places,  but  of  course  it  was  no  l  se  thinking 
about  it. 

"Where  do  you  gat  your  dinner?"  asked  Kristian 
suddenly  In  the  middle  of  their  play. 

Ditte  was  struck  dumb  and  stared  at  him  for  a  mo- 
ment; then  she  started  to  run  up  the  hill.  "Come  on, 
hurry !"  she  cried.  When  It  was  getting  on  for  noon 
she  had  to  keep  an  eye  on  the  old  mill  from  the  fields 
above,  but  to-day  she  had  forgotten  all  about  it.  Oh, 
but  the  shutter  v/as  not  thrown  open  yet. 

"That's  a  rotten  signal,"  said  Kristian;  "when  you're 
down  there  with  the  cows  you  can't  see  the  mill.  Why 
don't  they  make  some  sound — for  you're  within  hear- 
ing all  the  time?" 

"Make  a  sound?"      Ditte  looked  at  him  stupidly. 

"Yes,  hammer  on  something,  of  course." 

They  sat  there  watching  the  shutter.  Kristian  had 
calmed  down  now  and  could  answer  questions  sensibly; 
Ditte's  expression  was  all  curiosity.  "Has  anybody 
had  babies  at  the  village?"  she  asked,  watching  his  lips 
eagerly. 

"Yes,  Martha  !"  Kristian  answered,  nodding. 

"That's  not  true,  Kristian — you're  telling  me  lies!" 
Ditte  counted  up  and  saw  that  It  wouldn't  do. 


42  DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

"Well,  but  she's  going  to — Lars  Jensen's  widow  says 
so.     I  heard  her  say  it  myself!" 

Pooh — Ditte  looked  disappointed — was  that  all  I. 
"Hasn't  anything  at  all  happened  since  I  came  away?" 
she  asked,  "Who  is  Johanne  keeping  company  with? 
With  Anton,  I  suppose?  Anybody  could  see  that  it 
wouldn't  last  very  long  with  Peter." 

That  stupid  Kristian  didn't  know  anything  about  it. 
On  the  other  hand  he  could  tell  her  that  the  village  had 
got  a  new  kind  of  sea-going  decked  boat,  with  a  proper 
forecastle  to  sleep  in.     But  that  didn't  interest  Ditte. 

Did  little  Povl  ask  after  her  much?  Lars  Jensen's 
widow  was  good  to  him,  wasn't  she  ?  Kristian  said  yes 
to  both  questions  at  once.  He  wouldn't  separate  them, 
because  then  he  would  have  had  to  explain  that  Lars 
Jensen's  widow  was  not  with  them  at  all,  and  that 
would  have  been  too  longwinded. — But  why  hadn't 
Kristian  got  his  lunch  in  his  bag? — the  questions  came 
thick  and  fast  now.  Kristian  had  eaten  up  his  lunch 
on  the  way  out;  there  was  nothing  strange  about  that 
— nothing  new,  at  any  rate.  But  he  preferred  to  tell 
her  that  he  had  dropped  it  as  he  ran — it  sounded  bet- 
ter and  made  a  good  excuse  for  being  hungry.  And 
hungry  he  was — as  hungry  as  a  house — as  hungry  as 
from  here  to  the  hamlet!  Why  on  earth  didn't  they 
throw  open  that  shutter? 

Ditte's  eyes  went  over  him  searchingly.  His  hair 
wanted  cutting,  but  she  could  manage  that  in  the  after- 
noon with  her  work  scissors.  And  his  jacket  ought  to 
have  been  let  out  in  the  sleeves — now  it  was  too  late. 
It  was  easy  to  see  that  things  were  left  to  take  care 


A  WELCOME  VISITOR  43 

of  themselves.  Anyhow  he  was  looking  bonny — his 
cheeks  were  no  thinner.  And  he  seemed  pleased  too, 
she  noticed  that  with  satisfaction. 

"Oh,  and  the  Ogre's  wife's  dead,"  he  said  casually. 

Ditte  gave  a  start.  "The  innkeeper's  wife?  Why 
didn't  you  tell  me  that  long  ago?" 

"Oh,  I  suppose  I  forgot  it.  You  can't  remember 
everything." 

Ditte  began  a  regular  cross-examination,  but  at  that 
moment  the  shutter  was  thrown  open  at  the  mill. 
*'There,"  she  said,  rising  to  her  feet;  "now  you  can 
stay  here  and  mind  the  cows  while  I  run  home  to  din- 
ner.    Then  I  shan't  have  to  take  them  with  me." 

Kristian  stared  at  her  dumbfounded.  "Mayn't  I 
come  too?"  he  asked,  ready  to  cry. 

"No,  that  wouldn't  do  at  all.  It  would  look  as  if 
you  were  hungry  and  had  come  just  to  get  something 
to  eat." 

"But  so  I  have."  Kristian  was  not  at  all  willing 
to  stand  on  ceremony. 

"I  dare  say — but  it  won't  do  to  show  it,"  Ditte  ex- 
plained decisively.  "But  if  you're  sensible  I  shan't 
be  long — and  I'll  put  something  in  my  pocket  for  you." 

So  Kristian  had  to  be  patient.  He  lay  on  his  stom- 
ach and  thrust  his  fist  into  his  mouth  to  stave  off  his 
hunger,  which  had  become  quite  unconscionable  since 
there  was  food  in  the  offing.  And  Ditte  shot  off  home 
to  the  farm. 

Karen  Bakkegaards  had  been  out  to  open  the  shutter 
herself.  She  saw  the  child  running  up  without  her 
cows  and  stayed  outside   the  yard  waiting  for  her. 


44  DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

"What's  the  matter  with  you  to-day?"  she  asked  with 
a  sneer.  "Are  you  off  your  head,  or  are  you  so  starved 
that  you  hadn't  time  to  bring  the  cows  up?" 

Ditte's  face  flushed  like  fire.  "My  brother's  out 
there,"  she  said.     "So  I  thought  1  needn't — " 

"Oh,  and  is  he  built  that  way  that  he  don't  have 
to  have  any  food?  I  suppose  you're  not  so  well  ofE 
at  home  that  you  can  bring  your  own  food  with  you? 
Well,  he  needn't  have  it  if  he  don't  like  it." 

"He  can  quite  well  wait  till  he  gets  home,"  Ditte 
wanted  to  say,  but  burst  out  crying  instead.  It  had 
been  hard  enough  to  sacrifice  Kristian  to  appearances; 
she  knew  his  appetite  and  what  a  bad  hand  he  was 
at  going  without  his  food  for  long  at  a  time.  And 
now  all  she  had  done  was  to  tread  on  her  mistress's 
corns — that  was  all  she  got  out  of  being  well  behaved. 
"He  is  so  terribly  hungry,"  she  said  in  the  midst  of 
her  sobs. 

"A  nice  fuss  to  make  about  things — silly  brats  !  But 
I  suppose  that's  good  manners,  not  to  say  when  you're 
hungry — poorhouse  manners,  that  is!"  Karen  kept 
on  scolding  till  they  reached  the  house. 

But  she  didn't  really  mean  it.  Ditte  was  let  off  her 
midday  duties  and  was  allowed  to  run  off  with  some 
food  for  her  brother  as  soon  as  she  had  finished;  and 
it  was  a  pretty  good  basket  she  had  with  her.  "If  he 
leaves  anything,  he  can  take  it  home  with  him,"  said 
Karen.      "You  don't  live  too  well  at  home,  do  you?" 

Karen  Bakkegaards  was  nothing  of  a  softy;  this  was 
the  first  time  she  had  had  a  kindly  thought  for  Ditte's 
home.     She  was  not  very  indulgent  towards  poverty; 


A  WELCOME  VISITOR  45 

it  was  people's  own  fault  If  they  were  poor.     But  as  we 
know  she  was  free  with  her  food. 

After  Kristian's  visit  Ditte  calmed  down  more.  All 
the  fancied  ills  and  misfortunes  that  her  timid  imagina- 
tion had  conjured  up  when  thinking  of  her  home  were 
blown  away  by  the  wind  of  reality.  She  had  had  a 
real  live  greeting  from  home — Kristian,  out  at  elbows 
as  usual  and  the  same  old  vagabond.  This  last  was 
not  altogether  good;  she  was  worried  about  his  always 
yielding  to  the  truant  impulse  and  she  kept  an  eye  on 
the  road.  But  In  her  heart  she  hoped  soon  to  see  him 
running  here  again. 


CHAPTER  V 
DITTE  VISITS  HOME 

THE  only  one  Ditte  could  stand  up  to  was  the 
son.  With  the  others  she  did  not  count  as  a 
person,  but  only  as  a  piece  of  household  goods. 
If  over  some  hard  job  she  complained  of  backache, 
her  mistress  only  said:  "Your  back — pooh!  Why  you 
haven't  anything  but  a  row  of  bones  !"  And  the  others 
were  like  that  too;  they  could  make  use  of  one,  but 
they  didn't  take  one  seriously.  Sine  perhaps  could  see 
the  child  in  her  and  was  patient  with  her;  but  Ditte 
would  rather  have  been  treated  like  a  grown-up. 

With  Karl  it  was  another  thing.  He  was  seventeen 
and  his  face  looked  as  cheerful  as  an  undertaker's.  He 
dragged  his  feet  as  if  they  had  lead  in  them,  and  seemed 
as  if  his  heart  was  broken  already.  Ditte  could  see 
well  enough  there  was  something  or  other  that  trou- 
bled him,  but  that  was  no  reason  for  going  about  like 
a  man  who  was  going  to  be  hanged.  She  had  lots  of 
worries  of  her  own  and  it  wasn't  always  easy  to  find 
a  way  out  of  them;  but  that  didn't  make  her  hang  her 
head  all  the  time. 

It  was  too  comic  to  watch  how  careful  he  was  to 
shuffle  aside  if  anything  came  in  his  way.  Ditte  could 
not  resist  the  temptation  of  planting  herself  in  his 
path  to  tease  him,  she  went  for  him  whenever  she 
could.     If  she  met  him  with  a  bucket  of  water,  she 

46 


DITTE  VISITS  HOME  47 

would  spill  some  quite  accidentally  over  his  feet;  and 
if  she  had  made  his  bed,  you  may  be  sure  there  was 
something  wrong  with  it.  Either  the  bottom  of  it 
would  fall  out,  or  else  she  had  slipped  something  into 
it  so  that  he  couldn't  stop  scratching  himself  and  had 
to  get  up  and  shake  out  the  sheets  in  the  middle  of  the 
night. 

Ditte  had  found  one  on  whom  she  could  revenge  her- 
self in  a  good-natured  way  for  all  she  had  to  submit 
to;  and  she  availed  herself  of  it  to  the  full.  Karl  put 
up  with  her  teasing  and  behaved  almost  as  if  he  didn't 
notice  it.  It  made  no  difference  in  his  behavior  to  her, 
either  one  way  or  the  other.  Ditte  wouldn't  have 
minded  if  he  had  got  wild  and  landed  her  one  on  the 
ear;  but  the  most  he  could  do  was  to  loolc  unhappy. 

The  other  two  sons  seldom  came  home.  Ditte  had 
seen  one  of  them — the  teacher — once  at  the  farm;  the 
other — the  farm  hand — had  not  been  home  at  all  dur- 
ing the  summer. 

At  midday  one  Saturday  just  before  harvest  the 
teacher  came  on  a  visit.  When  Ditte  came  dawdling 
home  he  was  standing  out  in  the  yard,  bareheaded  and 
erect  and  looking  cheerful — a  bright  contrast  to  all 
the  rest.  He  and  his  mother  had  either  had  a  tiff  al- 
ready or  were  very  near  it;  you  could  feel  that  in  the 
air.  He  stood  looking  out  to  sea,  as  though  quite  taken 
up  by  the  view;  his  mother  busied  herself  at  the  pump 
with  the  pans  and  things  and  threw  him  challenging 
glances.  When  any  of  the  others  came  near  she 
screened  her  eyes  with  her  hand  in  imitation  of  her 
son's  attitude  of  gazing.    He  saw  it  but  took  no  notice. 


48  DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

"Well,  what  do  you  make  of  It?  Perhaps  you  can 
tell  us  what  they're  going  to  have  for  dinner  in 
Sweden?"  Ditte  heard  her  mistress  say. 

"Sweden  is  not  in  that  direction,  mother,"  he  an- 
swered with  a  laugh.  "You'll  have  to  go  round  to  the 
other  side." 

"You  don't  say  so — how  clever  you  are !  But  what 
are  you  staring  at  then?" 

"Oh,  I  think  the  sea  is  shining  so  gaily  to-day,"  he 
said  teasingly.  "No  farm  in  the  country  is  so  beauti- 
fully situated.  The  only  pity  is  that  it's  like  pearls  be- 
fore swine."     And  he  laughed  heartily. 

"Is  there  something  shining,  did  you  say?"  She 
came  right  up  to  him  and  stood  looking  out  from  his 
position,  putting  on  a  stupidly  innocent  expression. 
*'Yes,  you're  right — now  I  can  see  it;  blame  me  If  It 
don't  shine  like  cat's  dirt  in  the  moonlight!  Oh,  but 
it's  lovely!  Good  Lord  Almighty!"  And  she  clapped 
her  thighs  with  delight.  "Why  didn't  they  think  of  it 
and  put  the  farm  right  out  in  the  sea — the  old  people; 
then  we  shouldn't  have  had  to  worry  about  food  or 
drink!  But  p'raps  we'd  better  go  In  now  and  feed — 
those  of  us  that  can't  live  on  the  sight  of  a  lot  of  silly 
water."  She  turned  and  went  in;  her  son  followed  her 
smiling. 

To-day  Rasmus  Rytter  was  good  enough  not  to  come 
out  with  any  of  his  dirty  stories;  he  sat  with  his  head 
In  his  plate  and  his  hand  shook  a  little.  Even  Karen 
Bakkegaards  herself  was  half  afraid  of  her  son;  she 
was  not  so  loud  and  free-and-easy  as  usual.  The  son 
talked  all  the  time  in  a  bright  and  cheerful  way,  told 


DITTE  VISITS  HOME  49 

amusing  stories  from  the  capital  and  laughed  at  them, 
not  a  bit  put  out  when  the  others  didn't  join  in.  Karl, 
of  course,  never  laughed,  and  Rasmus  Rytter  and  the 
mistress  only  when  there  was  something  smutty  in  it. 
As  for  Sine,  nothing  ever  took  hold  of  her,  neither  fun 
nor  sadness;  and  it  would  have  loolced  pretty  strange 
if  the  youngster  had  tried  to  put  a  word  in.  But  there 
was  nothing  to  stop  her  fixing  her  eyes  on  the  teacher, 
and  she  did  so  all  through  the  meal.  When  he  spoke 
the  room  brightened  up,  and  Ditte  thought  she  could 
breathe  there  much  more  freely  to-day.  It  was  easy 
to  see  that  he  had  to  do  with  children  and  understood 
their  way  of  thinking. 

"Have  you  any  brothers  and  sisters?"  he  turned  sud- 
denly to  Ditte.  She  blushed  in  her  awkwardness,  for  she 
was  not  used  to  any  one  addressing  her  at  table.  When 
he  heard  that  she  had  not  been  home  yet,  he  became 
serious.  "That's  not  right  of  you,"  he  turned  to  his 
mother  straight  away. 

"Oh,  she  ain't  got  nothing  to  complain  about  here," 
the  woman  answered,  trying  to  shut  him  up. 

"I'm  not  even  sure  that  it's  in  accordance  with  the 
law  to  keep  a  newly  confirmed  child  away  from  her 
home  a  whole  summer,"  he  continued.  "At  any  rate 
it's  not  just." 

"You  needn't  come  teaching  me  the  law — nor  what's 
right  and  just  neither,"  Kareu  answered,  rising  angrily 
from  the  table. 

But  they  must  have  talked  it  over  privately  after- 
wards, mother  and  son,  for  as  soon  as  Ditte  had  fin- 
ished her  midday  work,  her  mistress  came  and  told  her 


so  DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

she  might  run  home  for  a  bit  if  she  liked,  the  cattle 
could  stay  in  the  paddock. 

"You're  free  till  to-morrow  evening — understand 
that!"  the  teacher  called  after  her.  Karen  Bakke- 
gaards  made  some  objection  or  other,  but  Ditte  didn't 
hear  it.     She  was  well  on  the  way. 

She  hadn't  been  so  happy  and  light  of  foot  the  whole 
summer.  She  was  going  home  !  Not  only  that,  but  she 
was  going  to  sleep  at  home — a  whole  night !  She  kept 
repeating  it  to  herself  as  she  darted  away — a  whole 
night!  That  had  been  the  worst  of  all — never  to  sleep 
under  her  father's  roof,  never  to  be  able  to  tuck  in  the 
little  ones  and  listen  to  their  quiet,  reliant  breathing. 

Sister  Else  was  washing  up  when  Ditte  dashed  into 
the  kitchen,  making  her  drop  a  plate  in  her  fright.  She 
had  to  stand  on  a  stool  to  reach  the  sink,  but  was  al- 
ready quite  a  good  little  housewife;  Ditte  had  a  look  at 
her  washing-up  and  praised  it.  The  little  girl  flushed 
with  delight  at  her  praise. 

Lars  Peter  appeared  from  the  garret,  looking  half- 
asleep.  "Hullo,  is  that  you,  my  girl !"  he  said  joyously. 
"I  thought  I  heard  your  voice."  Ditte  threw  her  arms 
round  his  neck  and  nearly  knocked  him  down. 

"Well,  well — let  a  man  get  properly  awake  first,"  he 
said  smiling  and  putting  out  his  arms  to  steady  himself. 
"This  daytime  sleep  isn't  worth  what  you  get  at  night 
^after  all.    It  seems  to  cling  about  your  head  so." 

Here  Povl  came  rushing  in  from  the  harbor;  some 
of  the  other  children  had  told  him  that  Big  Sister  had 
come  home.  "Have  you  got  something  for  me?"  he 
cried,  before  he  was  inside  the  door. 


DITTE  VISITS  HOME  51 

No,  Ditte  really  hadn't  anything — what  was  it  to  be  ? 

"You  know  you  promised  me  that  when  you  went 
into  service  you  would  spend  a  whole  crown  on  some- 
thing for  me,"  the  boy  said  reproachfully.  Well,  it 
must  have  been  something  she  had  promised  him 
lightly,  just  to  keep  him  quiet.  At  any  rate  she  couldn't 
recall  it. 

"But  I'll  really  remember  it  next  time,"  she  said 
seriously,  confirming  her  promise  by  a  look. 

"Yes,  it  doesn't  do  to  promise  the  little  ones  anything 
thoughtlessly,"  said  Lars  Peter.  "They  have  a  better 
memory  than  the  rest  of  us." 

"I  know,  you  say  you'll  give  us  things,  but  you  never 
do  it,"  Povl  chimed  in. 

"Where's  Kristian?"  asked  Ditte,  taking  the  disap- 
pointed youngster  on  her  lap. 

"Kristian — he's  at  work;  he's  quite  a  man  now,"  said 
her  father.  "He's  been  working  for  the  innkeeper  all 
the  summer." 

"He  never  said  anything  to  me  about  that  when  he 
came  to  see  me." 

"What — has  he  been  to  see  you?  I  never  heard  about 
that.  Did  you,  children?"  Lars  Peter  was  quite 
surprised. 

Yes,  Sister  Else  knew  about  it.  Kristian  had  confided 
in  her — since  she  was  now  mistress  of  the  house. 

"You  haven't  said  anything  to  me  about  it,"  said  her 
father  reprovingly. 

"No,  and  why  should  she?"  Ditte  broke  in  bravely 
— "if  Kristian  had  told  it  as  a  secret.  Does  he  get  any- 
thing for  it?" 


52  DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

Lars  Peter  laughed.  "The  innkeeper  isn't  a  man  to 
give  money  if  he  can  help  it — he's  better  at  taking  it, 
he  is.  But  the  lad  gets  his  food,  and  it's  time  he  learned 
to  do  something  and  obey  orders.  It  isn't  so  easy  to 
keep  an  eye  on  him  always,  when  you  have  to  go  to  sea 
at  night  and  get  your  sleep  in  the  daytime.  Have  you 
heard  that  the  innkeeper's  wife's  dead?" 

Yes,  Kristian  had  told  her  that.  What  did  she 
die  of? 

H'm,  well — Lars  Peter  glanced  at  the  little  ones. 
"You  can  go  out  and  play  for  a  bit,  children,"  he  said. 
The  two  little  ones  slowly  dragged  themselves  out  of 
the  door,  looking  very  aggrieved.  "Well,  you  see,  they 
wanted  so  much  to  have  a  child — and  when  you  come 
to  think  of  it,  it's  a  very  sad  story.  For  even  supposing 
people  are  bad — and  it's  no  disparagement  to  say  the 
innkeeper  is  that — you  can't  help  admitting  that  we  all 
want  to  have  children — most  of  us  anyhow.  They 
must  have  done  quite  a  lot  for  it;  I've  been  told  the  inn- 
keeper and  his  chapel  folk  used  to  kneel  and  pray  to 
the  Lord  that  he  would  look  down  in  his  mercy  and 
bless  her  womb.  But  the  Lord  don't  seem  to  have 
thought  a  child  would  be  very  w'ell  off  in  their  care — 
something  of  the  sort;  anyway  nothing  came  of  all  their 
hocus-pocus.  And  then  it  was  that  fellow  came  last 
autumn — the  missionary  the  innkeeper  brought  down 
here  to  lead  revival  meetings.  And  so  he  and  the  wife 
prayed  together  in  private  and  he  laid  hands  on  her  and 
blessed  her.  And,  one  way  or  another,  she  was  got 
with  child." 

"Then  it  was  a  miracle  !"  said  Ditte  solemnly. 


DITTE  VISITS  HOME  53 

"Yes,  p'raps  you  can  call  it  that — there's  lots  of 
things  it  isn't  easy  to  grasp.  All  the  same  the  innkeeper 
can't  have  had  the  right  kind  of  faith  when  it  came  to 
the  point,  for  he  wasn't  going  to  believe  in  any  miracles. 
You  know  he  was  never  very  kind  to  her,  but  now  he 
turned  real  bad.  He  beat  her  and  kicked  her,  I'm  told, 
and  he  did  it  in  the  nastiest  way;  they  say  he  always 
went  for  the  part  of  her  body  where  she  carried  the 
child." 

Ditte  gave  a  moan.  "How  could  he?"  she  whis- 
pered, shrinking  together.    Her  voice  was  hoarse. 

"Yes,  how  could  he?  He  was  jealous  of  course — 
and  you  know  what  a  devil  he  is  when  anything  crosses 
him.  It  made  her  sick — and  she  died;  and  they  say 
that  when  she  was  laid  in  her  coffin,  he  wouldn't  allow 
them  to  give  her  linen  and  thread  in  her  grave  so  that 
she  could  deliver  the  child  when  her  time  came.  That's 
always  the  custom  when  any  one  dies  and  is  buried  with 
a  child  unborn;  but  he  was  the  hardest  of  the  hard. 
*Let  her  stay  as  she  Is  till  Doomsday!'  that's  what 
he  said. 

"And  now  it's  on  his  own  head,  as  is  only  just,  since 
he's  but  a  man — for  all  the  talk  of  his  fearing  neither 
God  nor  the  Devil.  Folks  that  pass  the  churchyard  at 
night  have  heard  her  complaining,  ever  since  she  was 
buried.  And  a  week  ago  the  innkeeper  was  driving  home 
from  town  at  night  and  couldn't  get  the  horses  past  the 
churchyard.  They  stood  there  shaking  with  terror,  and 
the  sweat  was  steaming  off  them,  and  a  voice  kept  calling 
from  the  grave  for  'swaddling-clothes — swaddling 
clothes !'     He  had  to  tear  his  shirt  Into  strips  and  lay 


54  DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

them  on  the  grave  before  the  voice  stopped  and  he 
could  get  past  with  his  horses.  But  he's  been  in  a  bad 
way  since.  Of  course  he's  always  running  round  as 
usual,  but  he's  not  the  same  man." 

"Poor,  poor  woman,"  said  Ditte.  There  were  big 
tears  in  her  eyes. 

"Yes,  you  may  well  say  that — there's  a  lot  of  evil  in 
the  world.  But  to  keep  up  a  quarrel  beyond  the  grave 
— that's  about  the  worst  thing  I've  come  across ! — 
Well,  but  we  mustn't  make  ourselves  miserable  over 
it,"  Lars  Peter  raised  his  voice.  "Slip  out  now  to  the 
children — I  know  they  want  you.  I'll  have  to  go  down 
and  get  the  boat  ready  for  to-night." 

Ditte  took  Povl  and  Else  by  the  hand  and  went  out 
to  visit  friends  and  acquaintances.  She  would  rather 
have  left  it  undone,  but  that  wouldn't  do — they  might 
have  said  she  was  too  proud.  The  old  folks  at  "Gin- 
gerbread House"  were  glad  to  see  her.  "My,  how  big 
you've  grown  !"  they  said,  feeling  her  up  and  down.  As 
for  them,  they  were  smaller  than  ever;  those  two  dear 
people  seemed  to  grow  the  wrong  way.  There  was 
the  usual  smell  of  apples  and  lavender  about  the  place. 

They  paid  a  visit  to  Lars  Jensen's  widow  too.  She 
was  not  a  widow  any  longer,  by  the  way,  as  the  inn- 
keeper had  paired  her  off  with  a  new  fisherman  who  had 
arrived  at  the  village — his  way  of  getting  over  the 
housing  difficulty.  But  the  children  never  called  her 
anything  but  Lars  Jensen's  widow.  She  was  quite 
touched  by  the  visit,  good  soul.  "Well,  I  couldn't  be 
a  mother  to  you,  you  see,"  she  said,  "but  it's  nice  to  see 
you  so  friendly  all  the  same.     For  now  I've  got  a  hus- 


DITTE  VISITS  HOME  55 

band  of  my  own  on  my  hands,  as  you  may  have  heard. 
1  can't  tell  you  exactly  what  he's  like,  for  I've  scarcely 
got  acquainted  with  him  yet,  I  haven't.  It  seems  a  bit 
strange  to  have  a  perfect  stranger  shoved  in  on  one  like 
that;  to  begin  with  you  bite  and  kick  and  won't  have 
anything  to  do  with  one  another.  But  that  passes  off 
too — like  everything  else  in  this  world."  They  had  to 
stay  and  have  coffee,  and  then  went  on  with  their  round. 
It  was  fun  to  go  round  like  this  and  be  treated  like  a 
grown-up  and  made  a  fuss  of;  Ditte  quite  felt  that  she 
was  somebody. 

But  there  had  to  be  an  end  of  this  showing-off.  It 
was  Saturday  and  the  house  wanted  properly  putting  in 
order;  Else  could  only  manage  the  most  necessary 
everyday  work.  Ditte  put  on  an  old  skirt  and  a  rough 
apron  and  set  to  work  at  the  house-cleaning. 

It  did  her  good  to  be  at  home  again;  it  was  unspeak- 
ably soothing  to  be  looked  at  with  eyes  beaming  with 
affection  and  pride — and  admiration!     How  stout  she 
had  got  and  how  rosy  her  cheeks  were,  and  how  she 
had  grown  and  filled  out.     "You'll  soon  be  a  grown-up 
girl,"  said  Lars  Peter  proudly;  "before  one  can  look 
round  you'll  be  here  with  a  sweetheart  on  your  arm." 
The  children  hung  round  her,  glad  and  boastful  to  have 
a  grown-up  sister  who  came  home  with  the  air  of  a 
strange  world  about  her  and  talked  big  about  things. 
Povl  was  the  one  who  clung  to  her  most,  so  that  she 
could  scarcely  get  on  with  her  work;  he  wanted  to  be 
on  her  lap  the  whole  time.    He  had  to  make  up  for  all 
the  months  when  he  had  missed  her.     And  it  satisfied 
something  in  Ditte's  heart  to  have  him  about  her  again 


S6  DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

and  be  able  to  help  him;  his  little  body  was  grateful  to 
her  touch  and  she  loved  his  continual  "Oh,  but  Ditte 
must!"  whenever  he  wanted  something  done. 

Of  course  they  would  all  sleep  in  the  same  bed. 
"You'll  never  manage  it,"  said  their  father;  "remember 
you've  all  grown."  But  Ditte  was  just  as  bent  on  it  as 
the  others,  she  was  a  regular  child.  "Aren't  you  com- 
ing?" they  called  out  from  the  bed,  and  Ditte  longed 
to  crawl  in  among  them.  But  she  also  wanted  to  sit  up 
a  little  while  and  have  some  grown-up  talk  with  her 
father. 

"Well,  how  are  you  getting  on?"  he  asked,  when 
they  had  got  rid  of  the  others.  "You  look  strong  and 
healthy,  so  you  can't  be  starved  or  overworked." 

No,  Ditte  had  nothing  to  complain  of — as  far  as  that 
went.  But  all  the  same  she  would  like  to  come  home 
and  stay  the  winter;  there  was  plenty  for  her  to  do 
here,  and  the  Hill  Farm  was  so  far  away. 

"Yes,  to  be  sure,  we  miss  you  every  day — in  more 
ways  than  one,"  said  Lars  Peter.  "But  as  to  bringing 
you  home — a  girl  of  your  age — that  would  never  do 
for  poor  people  like  us.    Folks  wouldn't  like  it." 

"But  Rasmus  Olsen's  Martha  has  always  been  at 
home,"  Ditte  objected. 

"Well,  it's  another  thing  with  her,"  said  Lars  Peter 
hesitatingly;  "and  she's  had  to  give  up  things  for  it  too, 
I'm  sure.  No,  the  innkeeper  doesn't  like  poor  people 
being  helped  by  their  children;  he  couldn't  even  stand 
the  sight  of  Kristian  at  home  here.  But  if  it's  too  far 
off,  perhaps  we  can  find  you  a  place  nearer  home. 
There's  a  talk  that  the  innkeeper's  going  to  fit  up  a  hotel 


DITTE  VISITS  HOME  57 

and  bring  holiday  visitors,  like  they  have  in  other 
places.    Perhaps  you  could  get  a  job  there." 

No;  then  Ditte  would  rather  stay  where  she  was. 

"And  for  another  thing,  it's  too  soon  to  be  changing 
your  place,"  said  Lars  Peter,  "it  gives  you  a  bad  name 
— whether  you  deserve  it  or  not.  Farmers  never  like 
those  that  change  too  often." 

"But  why  not — when  they're  the  cause  of  it  them- 
selves?" 

"Because  it  shoAvs  too  much  independence — and 
that's  what  they  can't  stand.  But  if  you  keep  the  same 
place  a  long  time,  it  shows  that  you're  ready  to  put  up 
with  a  good  deal — and  that  they  always  like. — But  to 
talk  about  something  else,  do  you  ever  see  anything  of 
Uncle  Johannes?  I  hear  he's  not  a  stranger  at  the 
Hill  Farm." 

Ditte  had  only  seen  him  once  and  didn't  think  he  had 
been  there  oftener.  "Is  there  anything  between 
him  and  Karen  Bakkegaards  perhaps?"  she  asked 
inquisitively. 

"Well,  at  any  rate  the  gossip  goes  that  he's  courting 
your  mistress — and  that  she  doesn't  altogether  dislike 
him.  Whether  it's  true  or  not  I  can't  guarantee ;  but  he 
has  cheek  enough  to  aim  that  high.  It'll  be  a  case  of 
young  and  old;  and  that's  not  a  good  thing,  they  say.'* 

Ditte  was  waked  the  next  m.orning  by  somebody  pull- 
ing her  nose.  She  opened  her  eyes  in  bewilderment; 
Kristian  and  Povl  were  leaning  over  the  bed,  staring  at 
her  with  mischief  in  their  eyes,  and  Sister  Else  stood  by 
the  bedside  with  coffee.     "You're  going  to  have  coffee 


58  DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

in  bedl"  they  cried,  laughing  heartily  at  her  confused 
expression.  She  was  not  used  to  being  called  in 
that  way. 

It  was  getting  late — she  could  see  that  by  the  sun. 
The  little  rascals  had  arranged  the  day  before  that  she 
was  to  have  a  long  sleep,  and  they  slipped  out  of  the 
bedclothes  without  her  noticing  it.  "You  are  a  nice 
lot!"  she  said,  sitting  up  in  bed;  "I  wanted  to  get  up 
early  and  put  the  house  straight." 

"But  it  is  straight!"  they  cried,  delighted  at  the  way 
they  had  taken  her  in. 

While  Ditte  was  dressing  she  had  to  tell  them  all 
about  the  Hill  Farm  and  the  cattle  and  the  cat  that  was 
like  Pers  and  the  elderly  laborer  with  his  tobacco- 
stained  mouth  and  black  horse's  teeth.  "And  then  he's 
so  fond  of  kissing,"  said  Ditte — "he  can  hardly  let  one 
alone." 

"Ugh,  what  a  beast!"  Kristian  had  to  go  and  spit 
out  of  the  open  window.  In  doing  so  he  caught  sight  of 
the  boats  out  at  sea.  "Father's  coming!"  he  cried,  and 
rushed  away — out  of  the  kitchen  door  and  down  across 
the  sandhills  with  loud  yells  of  joy.  The  other  two 
were  also  on  the  move ;  but  Povl,  who  imitated  every- 
thing Kristian  did,  had  to  go  and  spit  out  of  the  window 
before  he  did  anything  else.  He  had  to  crawl  up  on 
the  bedstead  to  reach — and  then  got  it  all  down  his 
clothes;  Ditte  of  course  had  to  wipe  him,  and  all  that 
delayed  them.  At  last  he  escaped  and  toddled  off  to 
the  harbor — Ditte  could  follow  him  from  the  window; 
he  stumbled  and  rolled  every  moment,  he  was  in  such  a 
hurry.    He  was  the  same  funny  little  fatty  as  ever. 


DITTE  VISITS  HOME  59 

Ditte  would  have  gone  down  to  the  beach  too,  but 
there  was  a  knock  on  the  wall.  It  was  Mother  Doriom; 
Ditte  went  in  to  her.  "I  could  hear  you  were  come," 
she  sneezed — "I  could  hear  your  voice."  She  coughed 
between  every  word  and  the  phlegm  gurgled  in  her  like 
a  pot  of  potatoes  on  the  boil.  She  was  lying  in  a  fear- 
ful state  as  usual;  Ditte  tried  to  prop  her  head  up  a 
little,  and  the  pillows  were  like  clammy  oilcloth  to  the 
touch. 

"Well,  here  one  has  to  lie  and  rot  and  yet  can't  man- 
age to  die,"  she  complained.  "There's  nobody  to  look 
after  one,  and  one's  no  use  to  anybody.  The  son's 
away  at  sea  and  never  comes  home,  and  his  wife  does 
nothing  but  gad  about.  She's  in  the  family  way  again, 
they  say — my  eyes  aren't  good  enough  to  see  such 
things.  And  what  does  it  matter — if  only  one  could  die 
soon.  If  it  wasn't  for  Fore-and-Aft  Jakob  I  might  lie 
here  and  perish;  he's  the  only  one  that  looks  after  me. 
Come  here  and  I'll  tell  you  something,  but  don't  you 
breathe  a  word  to  anybody.  Jakob's  going  to  find  the 
word  soon — and  then  he'll  shoot  the  Ogre." 

"I  wish  he  would,"  said  Ditte.  "Then  we'd  be  free 
of  him." 

"Yes,  that's  right.  But  don't  you  say  anything  about 
it,  or  you  may  spoil  it  all." 

"Shan't  I  open  the  window  a  little?"  Ditte  was 
nearly  choked  with  the  stench. 

"Oh,  no,  oh  no,  don't !"  The  old  woman  had  a  fit  of 
coughing  at  the  bare  idea. 

Ditte  looked  round  helplessly;  she  thought  she  ought 
to  lend  a  hand  here,  but  there  was  neither  beginning 


6o  DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

nor  end  to  it.  "You  just  leave  it  all  alone,"  said  the  old 
woman.  "I'm  used  to  it  now  and  it  suits  me  best." 
Ditte  was  on  the  point  of  being  sick,  but  she  didn't  see 
how  she  could  go  off  and  leave  the  old  woman  lying  like 
that.  It  wasn't  her  way  to  shirk  things.  But  just  then 
she  heard  her  father's  voice  calling  her  from  the  day- 
light outside. 

"You're  gasping  for  breath,  aren't  you?"  he  said. 
"Some  of  us  that  can  stand  a  lot  get  seasick  if  we  put 
our  head  in  at  the  door.  But  there's  nothing  to  be 
done.  Every  now  and  then  the  place  is  cleaned  out, 
but  it's  just  the  same  again  directly.  She  ought  properly 
to  go  to  the  hospital,  but  the  innkeeper  won't  have  it. 
Of  course  he's  afraid  of  people  finding  out  what  a  state 
she's  in.  They  say  she's  got  great  holes  in  her  from  the 
dirt  and  vermin  and  her  thighs  have  grown  quite 
together." 

"Where  are  the  twins?"  asked  Ditte. 

"Oh,  one  of  them  fell  into  the  harbor  the  other  day 
and  was  drowned.  The  mother  was  down  there  at  the 
slip  rinsing  clothes  and  it  must  have  happened  right  be- 
side her.  But  she  didn't  notice  anything  and  went  home 
thinking  the  child  hadn't  been  with  her — she's  as  care- 
less as  that.  He  was  found  afterwards  under  a  lighter; 
and  the  other  we  took  and  sent  up  country  for  a  while 
to  some  of  their  relations." 

"But  why  won't  the  innkeeper  help  them  at  all?" 

"Oh,  you  see,  he  hates  them  because  the  son  went  to 
sea  instead  of  stopping  here  to  work." 

But  to-day  was  Sunday — everything  showed  it.  The 
sun  spread  a  holiday  brilliance  over  the  sandhills,  the 


DITTE  VISITS  HOME  6i 

harbor  and  the  water;  the  fishermen's  cabins  glistened 
in  the  calm  sunshine.  The  poles  for  drying  nets  stood 
idly  against  the  blue  sky,  like  fellows  who  were  keeping 
Sunday  with  their  hands  in  their  pockets.  It  was  one  of 
those  days  that  call  for  something  really  out  of  the  way 
— an  excursion !  Lars  Peter  gave  up  his  sleep.  "Oh 
come !"  he  answered  gaily  to  Ditte's  objections.  "A 
sleep  more  or  less,  what's  it  matter?  In  one's  young 
days  one  thought  nothing  of  it.  And  there's  time 
enough  to  sleep  when  one's  dead." 

It  would  be  fine  to  make  a  trip  inland  to  Lake  Arre; 
then  they  could  see  the  "Crow's  Nest"  at  the  same 
time — there  were  a  lot  of  attractions  in  that  direction. 
Lars  Peter  was  all  for  it;  but  the  children  wanted 
to  go  somewhere  they  had  never  been  before. 
There  was  to  be  a  fete  at  a  fishing  hamlet  about 
eight  miles  to  the  south — to  raise  money  for  the 
harbor, 

Lars  Peter  caught  at  the  idea  at  once;  perhaps  there 
would  be  a  chance  of  finding  something  or  other — he 
was  pretty  tired  of  being  here,  "And  then  we  shall 
see  the  holiday  folks  too,"  he  said  delightedly.  "I've 
heard  there  are  so  many  of  them  down  there  that  the 
fishermen  have  had  to  give  up  their  huts  to  them  and 
take  to  the  sheds  and  pigstyes.  And  they  must  be  a 
queer  lot.  They  eat  their  fish  with  two  forks,  I'm 
told,  and  they  have  breakfast  when  we  have  dinner, 
and  dinner  when  we  have  supper.  So  I  suppose  their 
supper  comes  about  the  time  we're  drinking  our  morn- 
ing coffee!"  The  children  laughed;  it  sounded  crazy 
to  them.     "Yes,  and  then  they've  got  nothing  to  do 


62  DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

but  go  courting  each  other's  wives.  It  must  be  quite 
the  thing,  too,  for  it  doesn't  seem  to  make  them  any 
the  worse  friends.  And  they're  always  in  the  way! 
The  fishermen  down  there  are  not  altogether  pleased, 
but  of  course  it  brings  money  to  the  place."  It  all 
sounded  very  promising. 

But  how  were  they  to  get  there?  Sailing  was  the 
easiest  and  most  natural  way,  but  the  girls  were  not 
specially  keen  on  that.  And  it  was  too  far  to  walk. 
So  it  had  to  be  seen  whether  they  could  borrow  Big 
Klaus;  Lars  Peter  thought  it  was  worth  trying.  The 
innkeeper  had  been  a  little  more  amenable  since  that 
affair  of  the  churchyard. 

Ah,  a  drive !  to  have  a  drive  again  with  Big  Klaus — • 
that  was  something  worth  talking  about !  The  girls 
said  "Ah"  and  made  big  eyes,  and  the  two  boys  frisked 
about  like  young  colts.  Kristian  was  sent  off  to  ask 
for  the  trap,  and  before  they  knew  where  they  were 
he  had  brought  it  to  the  door. 

Well,  now  they  had  to  hurry  up.  The  children  were 
In  their  best  clothes,  but  had  to  be  gone  over  once 
more;  they  did  their  best  to  keep  tidy,  but  one  never 
knew  how  it  would  be.  Kristian's  knees  were  black, 
quite  rough  and  scabby;  it  wouldn't  come  off,  he  said. 
"Come  here,  I'll  get  it  off  fast  enough,"  said  Ditte,  get- 
ting out  the  soft  soap  and  scrubbing-brush;  but  Kris- 
tian made  a  bolt. 

"Do  you  think  I  want  to  have  legs  like  a  girl?"  he 
asked  in  a  hurt  tone. 

Ditte  packed  a  basket  with  bread,  butter  and  fat 
in  pots,  cold  fish  and  whatever  else  there  was  to  be 


DITTE  VISITS  HOME  63 

found.  "Now  we  only  want  a  couple  of  bottles  of 
beer,"  she  said. 

"We'll  buy  them  down  there — and  coffee  too!"  said 
her  father  with  careless  generosity.  "We're  going  to 
have  a  good  time  to-day." 

"But  you  haven't  any  money!"  Ditte  objected  pru- 
dently. 

Faith,  that  was  true  enough,  Lars  Peter  had  never 
thought  of  that.  "You  get  so  used  never  to  have 
a  penny  in  your  pocket,  that  it's  like  a  vice,"  he  said 
with  a  laugh.  "Oh,  Kristian,  just  run  across  to  Rasmus 
Olsen's  and  ask  them  to  lend  your  father  a  dollar." 

"I  wonder  if  they've  got  it,"  said  Ditte,  glancing 
over  to  Rasmus  Olsen's  cabin. 

"Yes,  that's  all  right;  you  see,  Rasmus  Olsen's  crew 
fell  in  with  a  boat  from  Hundested  under  Hesselo  last 
night  and  sold  them  some  of  their  catch,"  said  Lars 
Peter  under  his  breath.  "You  have  to  play  a  trick  like 
that  once  in  a  while  to  get  a  bit  of  ready  money." 

Kristian  came  running  back;  they  could  see  by  his 
pace  that  he  had  succeeded.  He  held  a  clear  bottle 
in  his  hand,  sparkling  in  the  sun.  "If  it  isn't  a  dram!'* 
said  Lars  Peter  warmly.  "My  word,  that's  decent  of 
Rasmus  Olsen,  though !" 

"And  what  do  you  think?"  said  Povl,  pulling  Ditte 
by  the  skirt;  "over  in  'Gingerbread  House'  they're 
making  doughnuts,  and  I  believe  they're  for  us."  Yes, 
Ditte  had  already  smelt  them. 

"But  how  do  they  know  we're  going  for  a  picnic?" 
she  asked  in  surprise. 

It     was  no  secret.     The   trap   was   surrounded  by 


64  DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

children,  and  women  put  their  heads  out  of  all  the 
doors  to  see  what  was  going  on.  It  wasn't  every  day 
that  such  a  swell  turn-out  could  be  seen  in  the  hamlet. 

It  was  quite  strange  to  see  Big  Klaus  again.  He  was 
old — and  ill-used;  he  had  lost  a  lot  of  flesh  since  Ditte 
last  saw  him.  She  found  one  or  two  hunks  of  stale 
bread  for  him,  but  Big  Klaus  only  smelt  at  it;  it  had 
to  be  soaked  in  water  before  he  could  chew  it.  But 
he  knew  them  still,  and  he  was  specially  pleased  to  see 
Lars  Peter.  Every  time  he  came  near,  the  old  horse 
whinnied — it  was  quite  touching.  "He'd  like  to  be 
petted  all  the  time,"  he  said  mournfully,  patting  his 
nose.  Then  Big  Klaus  shoved  his  head  in  between  his 
arm  and  his  chest  and  stood  perfectly  still. 

The  children  really  felt  a  little  sorry  for  him  at 
the  thought  of  the  long  drive;  there  seemed  to  be  no 
life  in  him,  his  big  frame  was  like  an  old  house  that 
might  collapse  at  any  moment.  But  Lars  Peter  said 
it  would  be  all  right,  and  as  soon  as  they  were  in  the 
trap  the  horse  began  to  pull  quite  well.  Lars  Peter 
walked  at  the  side  until  they  were  out  of  the  loose  sand 
of  the  dunes;  and  Fore-and-Aft  Jakob,  who  had  turned 
up  on  the  scene,  pushed  behind  of  his  own  accord.  It 
was  quite  clever  of  him. 

"But  the  doughnuts !"  said  Povl,  when  they  stopped 
at  the  end  of  the  dunes  for  their  father  to  get  in. 
"We've  forgotten  all  about  them."  Ditte  looked  back 
at  the  house ;  she  had  remembered  them,  but  it  wouldn't 
have  done  to  go  and  ask  for  them,  even  if  they  knew 
they  were  meant  for  them.  But  at  that  moment  the 
little   woman    appeared   in   the    doorway,    beckoning. 


DITTE  VISITS  HOME  65 

Kristian  was  out  of  the  trap  in  a  jiffy,  and  came  back 
laden  with  a  heavy  basket.  "There's  gooseberry  fool 
in  it  as  well,"  he  said.  "And  I  was  to  wish  you  all  a 
happy  outing." 

So  they  went  on,  slowly  but  surely.  As  soon  as  Big 
Klaus  had  got  some  warmth  in  his  joints  he  went  along 
very  well;  he  had  still  some  of  his  old  pace  left,  which 
got  rid  of  the  miles  better  than  many  a  canter. 

It  was  grand  to  be  out  in  the  country  again,  and 
driving  too.  There  were  cornfields  on  every  side, 
small  holdings  each  with  its  homestead  and  telling  its 
tale  of  a  busy  life.  Now  and  then  they  had  a  glimpse 
of  the  surface  of  Lake  Arre  far  away,  and  it  reminded 
them  of  the  "Crow's  Nest."  Time  had  done  its  work, 
had  wiped  out  all  that  was  casual,  leaving  only  the 
essential  behind.  It  had  been  a  property  after  all, 
the  "Crow's  Nest"  had,  with  its  land,  however  poor, 
with  cow  and  pig  and  hens  that  laid  eggs.  One  had 
been  one's  own  master,  so  long  as  one  kept  out  of  debt. 
They  didn't  talk  about  it,  but  all  had  the  same  thoughts; 
that  could  be  seen  by  the  way  they  stretched  their  necks 
on  reaching  the  top  of  a  hill,  trying  to  get  a  glimpse  of 
the  smoke  of  the  "Crow's  Nest."  If  it  hadn't  been  for 
Big  Klaus,  Lars  Peter  would  have  gone  round  that  way. 
"Perhaps  we  ought  to  have  stayed  there,"  he  said  half 
aloud.  He  was  not  addressing  any  one,  but  the  chil- 
dren thought  much  the  same.  Even  little  Povl  sat 
quite  still,  as  though  he  felt  at  home  again. — After 
all  the  land  was  something  different  from  the  sea. 

On  the  way  down  to  the  fishing  hamlet  stood  a  huge 
building,  hung  all  over  with  wooden  birdcages  right  up 


66  DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

to  the  roof.  "That's  the  bathing  hotel,"  explained 
Lars  Peter — "it's  one  like  that  the  innkeeper  wants  to 
build  at  home.  Goodness  knows  how  it  can  pay — it's 
only  open  about  a  month  in  the  year."  Big  Klaus 
had  to  stop  while  they  took  a  look  at  it. 

"What  are  all  those  funny  birdcages  for?"  asked 
Ditte. 

"Those?  They're  what  they  call  ferandahs.  They 
lie  about  in  them  when  they're  too  lazy  to  move." 

"Does  it  cost  much  to  live  there?"  asked  Kristian 
when  they  had  started  again. 

"What  are  you  thinking  of,  boy?  They  pay  more 
a  day  for  one  person  than  we  spend  in  a  week — the 
whole  lot  of  us." 

"Where  do  they  get  all  the  money  from?"  Else  then 
asked. 

"Ah,  where  do  they  get  it  from,  tell  m.e  that.  The 
likes  of  us  have  hard  work  to  scrape  together  enough 
for  what's  barely  necessary.  But  there's  some  folks 
that  have  an  easy  time  of  It  all  through." 

They  kept  on  asking  questions,  endlessly;  Lars  Peter 
could  hardly  keep  pace  with  them.  Only  little  Povl 
never  spoke  but  used  his  eyes.  "What  a  lot  that  boy 
sees!"  said  Ditte,  giving  him  a  kiss. 

They  did  not  put  up  at  the  inn  but  drove  in  among 
the  dunes  and  took  the  horse  out.  "They  generally 
steal  some  of  your  chaff  at  the  inn,"  said  Lars  Peter 
in  explanation;  but  the  real  reason  was  that  he  wanted 
to  save  the  tip.  Big  Klaus  got  his  nosebag  on  and  a 
cloth  over  him  to  keep  off  the  flies,  and  they  went  on 
to  look  about  them. 


DITTE  VISITS  HOME  67 

The  harbor  was  not  so  good  as  the  one  at  home, 
but  the  beach  was  finer.  It  stretched  on  both  sides 
like  a  half-moon,  ending  in  high  promontories;  the 
sand  was  like  a  floor  to  walk  on.  On  the  sands  were 
little  wooden  houses  on  wheels,  to  be  driven  out  into 
the  water  when  any  one  wanted  to  bathe.  "They're 
for  those  who  are  so  particular  that  they'd  die  if 
anybody  saw  them  undressed,"  said  Lars  Peter,  laugh- 
ing.     "But  they're  not  all  so  squeamish  as  that." 

No  indeed  they  were  not,  for  there  were  people 
lying  stretched  on  the  sands  with  nothing  on  but  a 
cloth  about  their  loins,  men  and  women  together;  some 
of  them  had  burrowed  right  into  the  sand  like  pigs  or 
hens.  And  down  by  the  water  there  were  naked  cou- 
ples walking  arm  in  arm.  Some  of  the  brown  naked 
men  had  nobody  on  their  arm  but  went  about  strutting 
like  cocks,  with  their  arms  crossed,  showing  off  their 
muscles.  Every  moment  they  flung  out  their  arms, 
worked  the  muscles,  and  then  crossed  them  again.  It 
was  quite  comical.  But  the  funniest  thing  of  all  was 
a  naked  man  who  ran  along  the  beach  as  fast  as  he 
could,  backwards  and  forwards.  He  kept  his  elbows 
in  to  his  sides  and  his  head  thrown  back,  and  his  wet 
hair  hung  down  his  back. 

The  children  laughed  aloud.  "He  can't  be  right 
in  the  head,"  they  said. 

"And  he  knows  it  himself,"  answered  their  father. 
"You  can  see  he's  doing  it  for  his  health.  But  that's 
what  they're  like — a  lot  of  half-crazy  chaps,  most  of 
them.  It'll  upset  things  in  our  hamlet  when  we  get  the 
likes  of  them  to  deal  with." 


68  DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

The  fete  itself  was  nothing  much.  They  had  made 
some  ropes  of  green  and  hung  them  between  poles  so 
as  to  make  a  square,  and  inside  the  square  was  a  pulpit 
where  a  man  stood  and  shouted  something  about  The 
Danish  Path  to  Fame  and  Might!  He  was  bare- 
headed and  sweating;  the  sun  gleamed  on  his  big  bald 
forehead.  Booths  and  trials  of  strength  and  suchlike 
that  they  were  accustomed  to  see  at  fairs,  were  not  to 
be  found. 

"  That  fellow's  too  clever  for  us,"  said  Lars  Peter, 
and  they  went  on,  he  and  Ditte  ahead  and  the  three 
little  ones  close  behind.  Even  Kristian  never  ran  off 
by  himself,  but  kept  close  to  the  others;  it  was  all  too 
strange  here — too  fine  and  Copenhagenish;  one  felt  out 
of  it. 

In  one  of  the  arbors  of  the  hotel  they  ate  the  food 
they  had  brought  and  the  doughnuts,  which  were  still 
warm.  A  man  in  a  white  jacket  with  a  cloth  over  his 
arm  served  the  beer  and  the  coffee.  Ditte  thought 
it  queer  work  for  a  man.  But  it  was  great  fun  to  be 
having  a  meal  at  an  hotel ! 

And  then  it  was  time  to  put  the  horse  in.  The  sun 
had  already  begun  to  think  about  bedtime;  it  must 
have  been  something  like  five  o'clock.  Ditte  had  to  be 
back  at  the  farm  that  evening,  and  it  wouldn't  do  for 
her  to  come  too  late. 


CHAPTER  VI 
THE  MAID  WITH  THE  ROSY  CHEEKS 

4UTUMN  set  in  with  cold  and  sleet;  the  cattle 
AA  stood  with  their  backs  to  the  wind  most  of  the 
day  instead  of  feeding,  and  Ditte  froze.  It  was 
difficult  to  keep  them  out  now;  they  only  thought  of 
one  thing — coming  home  again.  On  all  the  other 
farms  the  cattle  had  long  ago  been  brought  in,  but 
the  Hill  Farm  was  slow  to  make  a  change,  in  this  as 
in  everything  else.  But  one  morning  they  woke  up 
to  find  a  fall  of  snow — it  was  early  in  October.  It  dis- 
appeared again  in  the  course  of  an  hour  or  two,  but 
all  the  same  it  gave  them  the  reminder  they  always 
waited  for. 

The  summer  pasturage  had  been  good  and  they  were 
in  pretty  good  condition,  the  cattle — smooth  in  the  coat 
and  fairly  fat.  Now  was  the  time  when  they  would 
lose  flesh;  at  the  Hill  Farm  they  went  on  the  old- 
fashioned  plan — sufficient  unto  the  season  was  the  evil 
thereof.  Feeding-stuffs  were  never  bought,  and  com- 
paratively little  of  the  good  pasture  had  been  brought 
home  as  hay.  Karen  had  been  more  than  usually  in- 
different about  everything  this  summer,  and  her  son 
was  too  green  and  too  slack  to  do  things  of  his  own 
accord. 

Ditte's  days  were  harder  now.  Apart  from  clear- 
ing out  the  cowsheds  and  the  rest  of  the  roughest  work, 

69 


70  DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

which  was  done  by  the  son,  It  was  her  task  to  look  after 
the  cattle  and  to  help  with  all  sorts  of  work  in  the  rest 
of  her  time.  But  she  was  glad  of  the  change.  Her 
mind  needed  occupation  from  outside  herself;  the  lone- 
liness of  the  pastures  had  only  impoverished  her  exist- 
ence. 

Throughout  the  summer  she  had  made  efforts  to  un- 
derstand the  life  about  her — people  and  things.  But 
it  was  not  easy  while  she  spent  her  time  alone;  there 
were  not  enough  chances  of  picking  up  anything.  Was 
Karen  Bakkegaards  poor?  It  came  natural  to  her 
to  regard  all  farmers  as  rich,  but  here  a  good  many 
things  pointed  to  the  opposite,  amongst  others  the  re- 
lations between  other  farmers  and  the  Hill  Farm. 
As  a  rule  farmers  were  as  thick  as  thieves;  each  had 
his  faults  which  made  him  indulgent  to  others.  But 
they  all  agreed  in  keeping  the  Hill  Farm  at  a  distance. 

Why  did  so  many  people  look  scared  as  soon  as 
Karen  Bakkegaard  was  mentioned?  Was  It  only 
on  account  of  the  husband's  horrible  death?  And  why 
did  she  herself  have  that  strange  shuddering  feeling 
In  her  mistress's  company? — for  she  was  not  really 
afraid  of  her.  But  it  must  be  that  strong,  bewildering 
smell.     What  did  it  come  from? 

And  above  all,  was  there  anything  between  her  mis- 
tress and  Uncle  Johannes?  That  was  after  all  the 
most  exciting  thing,  and  she  kept  her  eyes  and  ears 
open.  For  a  long  while  there  was  nothing  to  be  no- 
ticed; but  a  few  days  after  the  cattle  were  brought 
In,  he  came  again.  He  and  the  mistress  suddenly 
appeared  in  the  half  light  of  the  cowshed  and  inspected 


MAID  WITH  THE  ROSY  CHEEKS       71 

the  animals,.  He  had  to  give  his  opinion  about  each 
one  of  them.  From  their  way  with  each  other  and 
the  glances  they  exchanged  it  could  be  seen  that  they 
had  been  together  since  his  last  visit  here,  and  that 
there  was  more  between  them  than  they  wanted  to 
have  known.  So  after  all  it  was  true  that  they 
met  round  about  in  secret.  He  nodded  to  Ditte 
but  did  not  take  any  further  notice  of  her;  she  un- 
derstood that  she  was  not  to  claim  relationship  there 
either. 

At  dinner  one  end  of  the  table  was  specially  laid 
for  him — with  a  tablecloth!  He  had  roast  pork  and 
sausages  and  other  delicacies,  and  Karen  waited  on  him 
herself.  It  was  strange  to  see  that  big,  middle-aged 
female  attending  on  the  swarthy  whippersnapper  and 
watching  his  eyes  like  a  dog,  to  guess  his  wants.  Sine 
and  the  laborer  exchanged  glances.  The  son  sat  with 
his  head  in  his  plate,  looking  embarrassed.  It  was 
always  his  way  to  feel  shame  for  others. 

Suddenly  he  raised  his  head  and  did  a  thing  that  was 
quite  unlike  him.  "Tell  me  now — aren't  you  and  the 
little  girl  relations?"  he  asked,  looking  across  at  Jo- 
hannes. Rasmus  Rytter  cleared  his  throat.  "Ow, 
blast  it!"  he  said,  shaking  his  fingers  as  if  he  had  burnt 
himself.  The  mistress  looked  at  him  sharply. 
"You're  jretting  old,  aren't  you?"  she  said. 

But  Johannes  was  not  a  man  to  be  put  out  so  easily; 
he  just  stared  back — with  an  impudent  grin.  "Oh, 
more  or  less;  that's  to  say  she  was  out  at  nurse  at  my 
brother's,"  he  answered  as  jauntily  as  might  be.  Ditte 
sat  shivering,  with  the  feeling  that  she  was  being  thrown 


72  DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

about  like  a  missile.  But  then,  thank  goodness,  the 
subject  dropped. 

After  dinner  Karen  Bakkegaards  and  Johannes  went 
up  into  the  parlor — just  like  two  regular  sweethearts  I 
A  queer  couple  they  made,  though,  for  they  sat  the 
whole  afternoon  playing  cards  and  drinking  coffee  with 
rum  in  it — Karen  with  her  pipe  between  her  teeth,  the 
same  one  she  smoked  her  husband  to  death  with,  ac- 
cording to  Rasmus  Rytter's  story.  Johannes  never 
smoked  anything  but  cigars,  he  was  quite  the  gentle- 
man. 

After  that  he  came  regularly,  and  the  woman  was 
away  just  as  regularly  too.  She  drove  herself,  and 
everybody  knew  where  she  was  going.  She  met  hira 
and  others  of  his  kidney  in  the  hotels  round  about  in 
the  nearest  market  towns,  and  nice  goings-on  there  must 
have  been.  Well,  for  that  matter  Karen  had  never 
been  exactly  a  Sunday-school  child;  but  until  now  she 
had  always  kept  within  her  own  four  walls.  Now  she 
threw  all  shame  to  the  winds  and  gave  a  free  rein 
to  her  dissolute  nature. 

It  was  an  old  custom  that  those  farm  servants  who 
were  not  changing  their  places  had  a  holiday  on  the 
Sunday  after  hiring  day,  and  on  the  first  Sunday  in 
November  Sine  and  Ditte  left  the  farm  by  church  time 
in  the  morning.  They  had  got  their  wages  and  were 
going  into  Frederiksværk  to  shop.  It  was  all  Sine 
could  do  to  get  her  fifty  crowns  in  time;  she  had  to 
pretend  to  her  mistress  that  she  owed  the  money  in 
the  town.      "Oh,  you're  only  going  to  put  it  in  the  sav- 


MAID  WITH  THE  ROSY  CHEEKS       73 

ings-bank,  1  suppose?"  Karen  had  said,  but  she  had  to 
find  it.  Ditte's  five  crowns  was  not  such  a  big  sum, 
there  was  no  difficulty  about  them. 

"Ah,  it's  a  lot  of  money  for  you,"  said  Sine;  "but 
■wait  and  see  how  far  it  goes.  I  can  remember  the  first 
money  I  got — and  how  bad  I  felt  when  it  all  went  with- 
out I  knew  how." 

"Is  if.  true  that  you  put  money  in  the  savings-bank?" 
asked  Ditte,  shifting  her  bundle  to  the  other  arm.  She 
had  her  washing  in  it  besides  the  homespun  cloth,  the 
wool,  the  holland  shift  and  the  new  wooden  shoes. 

Sine  took  the  bundle  from  her.  "Come  here,  you'll 
kill  yourself  dragging  that,  my  girl,"  she  said.  "You 
might  just  as  well  have  left  the  wooden  shoes  behind, 
you're  going  to  wear  them  out  at  work  anyhow.  Or 
were  you  thinking  of  leaving  them  on  the  chest  of 
drawers  at  home?" 

"I  only  want  to  show  them  to  my  brothers  and  sis- 
ter," said  Ditte.      "And  Father!"  she  added  solemnly. 

"Oh  well,  you're  a  child,  aren't  you?  Sometimes 
you  seem  quite  a  baby!" 

Ditte  returned  to  her  question.  Was  she  really 
fellow-servant  with  some  one  who  had  money  in  the 
savings-bank?  It  was  very  important  to  have  this  con- 
firmed. "We  had  money  in  the  savings-bank  once," 
she  said. 

"Yes,  that  was  the  money  your  mother — "  Sine 
stopped  suddenly.  And  to  make  up  for  her  slip  she 
confided  to  Ditte  that  she  already  had  five  hundred 
crowns  in  the  savings-bank;  two  hundred  she  had  in- 
herited,  but   the   rest   she    had   saved   herself.     And 


74  DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

when  she  had  a  thousand,  she  would  start  a  little  haber- 
dasher's shop  in  one  of  the  towns.  "You  ought  to 
put  a  little  by  too,"  she  said;  "however  little  it  may 
be,  it  grows  into  something.  And  it's  a  good  thing 
to  have  something  when  you  get  old." 

"Oh  no,  I'm  going  to  get  married,"  said  Ditte.  She 
didn't  want  to  be  an  old  maid. 

"Yes,  if  he  doesn't  fool  you,"  suggested  Sine. 

"Have  you  been  deceived  then?"  Ditte  preferred 
that  expression. 

"Yes,  and  shamefully  too !"  she  said,  suddenly  break- 
ing down.  It  was  some  years  ago  now,  but  whenever 
she  was  reminded  of  it,  she  could  hardly  keep  back  her 
tears. 

"Did  he  leave  you  to  bear  the  shame?"  Ditte  put 
a  weight  of  experience  into  her  voice;  she  was  proud 
of  being  talked  to  like  a  grown-up. 

"No,  I  didn't  let  it  go  so  far  as  that — and  that  was 
why  he  threw  me  over,"  said  Sine,  half  sobbing.  They 
walked  on,  and  she  sniffled  for  a  while,  but  then  pulled 
herself  together,  blew  her  nose  resolutely  and  put  her 
handkerchief  in  her  pocket.  "Yes,  you  may  well  stare," 
she  said,  "you  don't  often  see  Sine  crying.  But  every 
roof  has  its  leaks  that  you  have  to  run  and  fetch  a 
bucket  to." 

"Why  did  he  throw  you  over,  though?"  asked  Ditte 
again,  wondering. 

"Yes,  you  may  well  ask  that  again,"  said  Sine  with, 
a  laugh.  "But  just  you  wait  till  they  begin  pulling  your 
things  about,  first  at  one  knot  and  then  at  another — and 
tell  you  they  must  know  whether  you're  like  this  or  like 


MAID  WITH  THE  ROSY  CHEEKS       75 

that  before  they  can  marry  you ;  then  you'll  understand 
better  than  you  do  now.  No,  men  folks  are  best  left 
alone.  At  first  they're  all  cringing  and  humble  as  can 
be,  but  when  they've  got  what  they  want,  they  turn 
round  and  put  their  foot  on  you." 

Ditte  considered  this  well  and  went  over  the  little 
world  of  her  acquaintance.  "Father's  not  like  that," 
she  said  decidedly;  she  thought  of  how  long-suffering 
he  had  been  with  Serine,  and  how  he  was  only  waiting 
for  her  to  come  out  again. 

"No,  I  don't  think  so  either,"  said  Sine  readily; 
"but  most  of  them  are !"  She  was  even  redder  in 
the  cheeks  than  usual  and  her  brown  eyes  sparkled 
quite  angrily.  "She's  really  pretty!"  thought  Ditte 
gladly. 

"And  you've  only  got  to  get  used  to  it,"  Sine  con- 
tinued after  a  while.  "  'You'll  never  be  able  to  do  it,' 
Mother  used  to  say — 'your  blood's  too  red;  you  may 
just  as  well  give  in  first  as  last.  What  you  save  to-day 
you  lose  to-morrow' — and  all  the  other  sayings  she 
could  think  of.  But  you've  only  got  to  get  used  to 
it — like  everything  else.  When  the  feeling  comes  over 
you,  you  just  cry  a  little  and  think  of  what  happened 
before  and  take  out  your  savings-bank  book — and  then 
it  passes  off." 

When  they  got  to  the  town  the  shops  were  open 
on  account  of  the  day.  The  street  was  full  of  farm- 
servants;  some  of  them  had  already  been  celebrating 
the  occasion.  The  only  place  that  was  not  open  was 
the  savings-bank;  Sine  had  to  leave  her  money  with 


76  DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

some  people  she  knew  and  ask  them  to  see  to  it  for 
her.  Then  they  went  out  to  do  their  shopping;  there 
was  not  much  time,  if  they  were  to  go  down  to  Ditte's 
home  and  be  back  at  the  Hill  Farm  before  night.  "You 
must  be  quick  about  it,"  said  Sine,  "or  else  we  shan't 
get  there." 

Yes,  Ditte  would  be  quick — for  they  must  get  home. 
"Father  will  be  so  glad  to  see  you,*"  she  said.  "He's 
terribly  fond  of  you  because  you  help  me  and  are  kind 
to  me.     He's  so  kind  himself,  he  is!" 

"Then  I'll  have  to  take  him  something  too,"  said 
Sine,  laughing,  and  bought  a  bottle  of  old  rum. 

Ditte  had  remembered  her  promise  to  little  Povl 
and  spent  a  whole  crown  on  a  toy  for  him;  and  as  the 
others  were  not  to  be  left  out  in  the  cold — Father  least 
of  all — the  money  all  vanished.  And  she  had  plenty 
to  carry,  too !  There  was  a  pipe  and  tobacco  for  Lars 
Peter,  a  horse  on  wheels  for  Povl,  a  doll  for  Sister, 
and  a  carriage  which  could  be  wound  up  and  would  go 
by  itself  for  Kristian  to  pull  to  pieces. 

They  got  it  all  safely  home,  and  then  there  was  real 
joy.  It  was  the  first  time  in  her  life  Ditte  had  been 
able  to  give  presents,  and  the  first  time  the  children 
had  had  real  toys  from  a  shop ;  it  was  hard  to  say  on 
which  side  the  joy  was  greatest.  Lars  Peter  at  once 
iilled  his  pipe  and  lit  it.  It  was  a  grand  smoke  he 
puffed  from  it;  he  thought  he  had  never  seen  such  blue 
smoke  before.  And  what  a  fine  smell  it  had!  "But 
you  haven't  saved  much,  have  you?"  he  said  teasingly. 
Oh  well,  she  still  had  the  best  part  of  her  wages,  the 
cloth  and  the  wool  and  the  wooden  shoes.     Lars  Jen- 


MAID  WITH  THE  ROSY  CHEEKS       77 

sen's  widow,  who  was  clever  with  her  fingers,  had 
promised  to  make  the  dress  for  her;  Ditte  wanted  to 
take  her  the  stuff  at  once. 

"Kristian  can  run  round  with  that,"  said  Lars  Peter. 
"And  you  can  make  us  a  drop  of  coffee;  real  good  cof- 
fee we  can  have  to-day.  When  we  have  company  like 
this!"     He  sent  Sine  a  bright  look. 

Ditte  came  with  the  coffee  and  put  a  glass  on  the 
table.  "You  must  have  a  taste  of  your  present,"  she 
said. 

"Not  unless  you  two  join  me,"  said  Lars  Peter,  and 
he  brought  two  more  glasses.  He  sat  caressing  the 
bottle  before  he  uncorked  it;  let  it  rest  in  his  hand  a 
little  and  then  held  it  up  to  the  light.  "There  hasn't 
been  such  a  thing  in  the  house  for  many  a  year,"  he 
said,  and  his  voice  was  full  of  warmth.  "I'm  blest  if 
it  isn't  like  meeting  one's  first  love  again." 

"Was  she  like  that?"  asked  Sine,  laughing. 

"She  was  pretty,  you  may  be  sure. — But  all  the  same, 
such  lovely  rosy  cheeks  as  yours  I've  never  seen  be- 
fore !" 

"But,  Father!"  said  Ditte,  admonishingly. 

"Well,  damn  it — why  should  I  sit  here  and  tell  lies? 
All  I  can  say  is,  that  if  one  was  young  again — "  He 
was  quite  animated,  though  he  had  not  yet  tasted  the 
rum. 

Sine  only  chuckled;  she  took  no  offense  to-day.  But 
if  it  had  been  Rasmus  Rytter  or  any  one  else — .  Ditte 
looked  proudly  at  her  father,  "Well,  here's  thanks  for 
the  drink,  and  thanks  for  being  good  to  my  girl,"  said 
Lars   Peter  and  they  touched  glasses,      Ditte   joined 


78  DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

them,  but  she  put  down  her  glass  with  a  shudder  after 
just  sipping  it. 

While  she  ran  across  to  Lars  Jensen's  widow  with 
the  stuff  for  the  dress,  Lars  Peter  and  Sine  had  time 
for  a  little  serious  talk  about  her;  the  children  lay  about 
the  floor,  taken  up  with  their  different  toys. 

"Is  she  getting  on  pretty  well?"  Lars  Peter  asked. 
They  were  both  following  Ditte  with  their  eyes;  she 
ran  like  a  kid  among  the  sandhills — full  of  excitement 
over  the  new  dress. 

"Oh  yes,  she's  pretty  smart  at  her  work,"  said  Sine. 
"I  wish  everybody  was  as  willing  and  as  conscientious." 

No,  there  wasn't  much  shirking  about  her — so  far 
as  Lars  Peter  knew.  But  what  about  the  treatment 
she  got?  She  never  complained — never  a  word;  but 
the  Hill  Farm  people  hadn't  a  very  good  name. 

Well,  to  be  sure,  they  had  their  faults  like  every- 
body else,  perhaps  a  bit  worse  than  most.  But  it  was 
a  place  you  could  put  up  with — not  worse  than  that. 
And  the  food  was  good. 

Yes,  of  course,  that  meant  a  good  deal,  and  Sine 
herself  was  the  best  proof  that  the  Hill  Farm  was  not 
too  bad,  he  remarked,  fixing  his  eyes  on  her  kindly 
round  face.  This  made  Sine  laugh,  and  Lars  Peter 
laughed  too;  they  sat  looking  out  of  the  window  and 
got  quite  red  about  the  eyes  with  the  effort  to  over- 
come their  laughter,  and  then  they  came  to  look  at  each 
other  and  laughed  again.  "Well,  if  it  isn't — "  Lars 
Peter  began,  but  came  to  a  stop. 

It  was  the  lovely  rosy  cheeks  that  made  him  so  happy 
— and  her  not  blaming  her  employers  but  shielding 


MAID  WITH  THE  ROSY  CHEEKS       79 

them.  She  must  be  a  good  girl — and  a  real  fine  piece 
into  the  bargain !  In  the  middle  of  her  soft  throat, 
where  her  dress  was  open,  there  was  a  little  hollow 
which  moved  in  and  out  as  she  talked.  But  when  she 
laughed,  it  worked  all  the  time  in  quick  little  throbs, 
as  if  she  had  some  joker  inside  her  throat  playing 
pranks.  How  the  devil  could  it  be — "How  is  it  that 
such  a  fine  girl  is  allowed  to  go  about  without  a  hus- 
band?" he  said. 

"Yes,  it's  hard  to  say,"  she  answered  and  laughed 
again. 

Well,  then  Ditte  came  back  and  they  had  to  go. 
Lars  Peter  stood  for  a  moment  gazing  absently  past 
them,  "ril  go  a  bit  of  the  way  with  you,"  he  said 
then,  with  a  shrug. 


CHAPTER  VII 
WINTER  DARKNESS 

TO  begin  with,  winter  brought  chiefly  cold  and 
darkness;  Ditte  thought  she  had  never  known 
such  a  dark  and  cold  December  at  home.  The 
snow  came  at  the  very  beginning  of  the  month;  it  came 
driving  in  from  the  sea  and  was  caught  by  the  three 
wings  of  the  farm  buildings,  which  lay  open  to  take 
it  in  their  embrace,  and  lay  in  deep  drifts,  blocking 
the  way.  Ditte  felt  the  cold  badly  and  had  big  chil- 
blains on  her  hands  and  feet;  the  snow  got  into  her 
wooden  shoes  and  her  feet  were  always  wet.  Sine 
found  a  chance  of  drying  her  stockings  on  the  stove, 
but  that  did  not  help.  She  got  sores  on  her  heels  and 
ankles  and  the  backs  of  her  hands  from  the  cold  and 
could  not  bear  to  wear  shoes  or  put  her  hands  in  cold 
water.  When  she  came  to  dress  in  the  morning,  her 
clothes  were  half  covered  by  stiff  snow  that  had  drifted 
in  through  the  ill-fitting  door;  and  outside  it  might  be 
so  deep  that  she  could  only  open  the  upper  half  door. 
Then  she  had  to  climb  out  and  wade  across  to  the  scul- 
lery door;  when  she  got  inside,  the  snow  melted  on 
her  and  she  was  soaking  wet  from  the  waist  down. 

There  was  nothing  amusing  about  the  snow.  At 
home  the  boys  used  to  go  quite  wild  when  they  woke 
up  in  the  morning  and  found  a  fall  of  snow.  They 
simply  had  to  go  out  and  stand  on  their  heads  in  it — 

80 


WINTER  DARKNESS  8i 

in  nothing  out  their  shirts  for  choice ;  it  was  all  one  could 
do  to  keep  them  back  till  they  had  some  clothes  on. 
Ditte  couldn't  understand  it;  to  her  snow  meant  only 
cold,  trouble  and  discomfort. 

And  the  darkness  didn't  make  things  better.  There 
was  never  any  daylight  to  speak  of  till  late  in  the  fore- 
noon, when  most  of  the  hard  work  was  done;  and 
early  in  the  afternoon  the  darkness  came  tumbling  in 
on  them  again.  It  came  from  out  at  sea,  where  it  had 
been  brooding  in  the  meantime  in  the  form  of  leaden 
fog  and  black  dead-water.  It  was  never  really 
day. 

One  day  passed  like  another,  in  cutting  chaff,  thresh- 
ing and  winnowing  corn,  and  looking  after  the  cattle. 
They  were  always  hard  at  it  and  didn't  get  through 
very  much;  when  at  last  one  job  was  finished,  two  or 
three  more  had  stacked  themselves  up  waiting  to  be 
done. 

At  the  Hill  Farm  nothing  was  ever  in  proper  work- 
ing order — and  nothing  had  its  proper  place  either, 
neither  the  hands  nor  the  work  they  had  to  do.  Ditte 
had  to  be  here,  there  and  everywhere;  just  as  she  was 
going  to  feed  the  cattle,  they  would  call  her  off  to  help 
at  the  chaff-cutter. 

She  had  to  try  her  hand  at  everything,  and  gener- 
ally at  work  that  would  be  done  by  grown-up  people 
anywhere  else.  She  passed  the  corn  to  the  feeder 
when  they  were  threshing,  or  lay  up  in  the  loft,  where 
there  wasn't  room  for  any  of  the  others,  and  cleared 
the  straw  out  of  the  way.  And  she  had  to  take  turns 
with   Sine   at  working  the   winnowing-machine   while 


82  DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

Karl  fed  it.  It  was  hard  work,  but  at  any  rate  It  was 
■warm  in  the  barn,  and  Karl  would  often  change  places 
with  her,  while  she  fed  the  machine.  Then  they  were 
able  to  have  a  chat — she  looked  forward  to  these  hours. 
Karl  was  shy  and  silent  with  the  grown-up  people — he 
couldn't  stand  being  laughed  at.  But  he  felt  at  ease 
with  Ditte  and  could  talk  freely  with  her.  She  had 
stopped  her  teasing  and  had  gradually  come  to  like 
him — she  could  see  that  he  had  a  bad  time  and  wanted 
somebody  to  be  kind  to  him.  But  still  she  could  not 
understand  how  he — a  man — could  put  up  with  it  all. 
When  she  told  him  so,  he  was  helplessly  dumb. 

He  was  quite  under  the  thumb  of  his  mother — that 
must  be  it.  Not  that  he  was  fond  of  her — he  talked 
of  her  as  a  stranger  and  would  often  join  in  discussing 
her  bad  points;  but  he  hadn't  the  strength  to  free  him- 
self. 

One  day  he  began  to  speak  about  his  father,  with- 
out anything  having  led  up  to  it;  he  had  never  men- 
tioned him  before. 

"Did  you  like  him?"  asked  Ditte.  "Because  I  know 
you  can't  stand  your  mother,"  she  went  on,  when  there 
was  no  answer.  "You  needn't  be  ashamed  to  own  up 
to  it — we're  not  obliged  to  be  fond  of  anything  we  can't 
be  fond  of.     I  don't  like  my  mother  either !" 

"But  that's  sinful !  God  has  told  us  that  we  are  to 
love  our  parents,"  Karl  replied  gloomily. 

"Not  if  we  can't  be  fond  of  them — for  what  will 
He  do  to  us  then?  And  what  if  they're  not  good? — 
You  can  see  yourself,  you're  not  fond  of  your  mother — 
how  will  you  get  out  of  that,  eh?" 


WINTER  DARKNESS  83 

Karl  didn't  know — but  one  ought  to.  The  Scripture 
said  so! 

"But  did  your  father  love  your  mother?  For  he 
was  such  a  God-fearing  man,  they  say." 

"No,  he  couldn't — but  he  was  sorry  for  it.  Mother 
smoked  tobacco  in  the  bedroom  when  he  was  ill.  And 
it  made  him  cough  and  spit  blood,  but  still  she  didn't 
stop.  Go  on,  she  said,  spit  up  your  dirty  blood  and 
then  you'll  get  some  fresh.  It  was  horrible  to  see  Fa- 
ther's blood  about  the  floor — his  face  was  as  white  as 
chalk;  but  as  for  asking  her  to  stop,  he  wouldn't  do 
that.  Then  my  brothers  took  away  her  pipe  and  to- 
bacco and  hid  them,  and  she  tempted  me  until  I  told 
her  where  they  were — she  gave  me  sweets." 

"Didn't  she  thrash  you  into  telling? — that  would 
have  been  more  like  her." 

"No,  she  never  cared  to  strike  the  small  and  defense- 
less. But  she  thrashed  my  big  brothers.  And  then 
they  thrashed  me  again — for  blabbing." 

"And  well  you  deserved  it — even  if  you  were  a  lit- 
tle one.  Nobody  would  have  got  Povl  or  Else  to  do 
that,  nor  even  Kristian  either,  thoughtless  as  he  is.  We 
stuck  to  Mother,  all  four  of  us,  though  Father  thought 
it  was  wrong.      But  it  was  for  his  own  sake — mostly." 

"Was  she  unkind  to  him  too,  I  wonder?" 

"Oh,  nobody  can  hurt  Father;  for  he  takes  every- 
thing— you  know — the  same  way  as  God  does — he 
thinks  the  best  of  everybody." 

"You  mustn't  compare  a  human  being  to  God,"  said 
Karl  reprovingly. 

"I  do  it  all  the  same,"  Ditte  replied  in  irritation. 


84  DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

"With    Father    I    do !     You're    not    a    parson,    are 
you?" 

And  so  they  fell  out  and  didn't  talk  any  more  while 
that  job  lasted. 

The  evenings  were  the  best  part  of  life.  Luckily 
the  days  were  short,  and  at  dark  all  work  in  the  yard 
and  the  barn  came  to  an  end;  it  was  only  the  cattle 
that  gave  one  something  to  do  at  intervals.  The  rest 
of  the  time  Ditte  sat  in  the  warm  living-room  with  its 
comfortable  smell  of  peat-smoke,  and  helped  at  card- 
ing, spinning  and  winding  yarn.  Karl  sat  reading  some- 
thing pious,  a  missionary  paper  or  whatever  it  might 
be:  and  when  Rasmus  Rytter  was  employed  at  the  farm 
he  sat  asleep  in  the  corner  or  told  coarse  stories  about 
the  people  of  the  neighborhood.  If  the  stories  got 
really  juicy,  Karen  struck  up  her  scornful  laugh  and 
egged  him  on  to  tell  some  more.  She  had  a  grudge 
against  everybody,  without  respect  of  persons,  and 
wished  them  all  bad  luck;  she  never  spoke  up  for  any 
one  or  had  any  good  to  say  of  her  neighbors. 

"And  why  should  I?"  she  answered  when  Sine  once 
reproached  her  with  this.  "Do  you  think  there's  any- 
body that  has  a  good  word  to  say  of  Karen  Bakke- 
gaards?"  They  didn't  spare  her,  so  why  should  she 
spare  them?  And  she  didn't  lose  a  chance  of  telling  a 
dirty  story  herself — especially  if  it  gave  her  a  hit  at 
somebody.  She  was  always  going  for  her  son  about 
his  piety;  but  that  was  such  poor  sport.  He  never 
answered  back,  but  pretended  he  hadn't  heard. 

Ditte  too  had  to  stand  a  good  deal  from  her  mistress 


WINTER  DARKNESS  85 

and  Rasmus  Rytter.  Her  transitional  age  constantly 
tickled  something  in  them.  The  woman  in  her  was 
beginning  to  peep  out,  and  in  her  childish  Innocence 
she  would  ask  questions  that  prompted  them  to  laugh- 
ter and  ambiguous  allusions.  Sine  snapped  at  them, 
and  gave  them,  so  to  say,  a  rap  over  the  knuckles;  but 
nothing  would  stop  them,  they  had  to  have  their  paws 
on  this  fresh  young  life  that  was  feebly  seeking  its  way 
out — and  make  fun  of  the  experiences  that  were  to 
come. 

Otherwise  Sine  took  no  part  in  the  conversation  when 
those  two  were  in  it,  but  sat  there  with  her  round,  rosy 
cheeks,  attending  to  her  work  and  living  on  her  un- 
happy love.  If  anybody  touched  upon  that  or  took 
any  other  liberties  with  her,  she  was  quite  ready  to 
show  her  teeth. 

Great  preparations  were  made  for  Christmas  in  the 
way  of  slaughtering  and  baking.  But  no  Christmas 
g-uests  came  of  their  own  accord,  and  those  who  were 
invited,  refused.  "They  won't  run  the  risk  of  meeting 
the  dealer  and  his  cronies,"  Sine  thought.  "For  there's 
no  other  reason  why  they  should  stay  away  this  year 
more  than  any  other — and  they've  never  found  fault 
with  our  Christmas  dinners."  She  was  almost  offended 
on  the  farm's  behalf.  Their  mistress  was  In  a  bad 
temper  all  this  time;  she  scolded  constantly,  and  said 
spiteful  and  disparaging  things  about  everybody.  She 
wanted  to  revenge  herself.  But  Ditte  was  the  one  who 
felt  least  of  her  Ill-temper;  It  was  part  of  her  powerful 
nature  never  to  take  the  line  which  lay  easiest.      Karen 


86  DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

had  a  name   for  hitting  those  who  were  most  likely 
to  hit  back. 

One  day  between  Christmas  and  New  Year's  the 
postman  came  round  to  the  Hill  Farm;  they  took  no  pa- 
pers, so  his  visits  were  few  and  far  between.  There  was 
a  letter  for  the  mistress.  She  went  up  to  her  bedroom 
with  it,  for  It  was  always  a  serious  business  to 
get  a  letter.  When  she  came  back  she  was  in  a  good 
humor. 

"We're  going  to  have  some  Christmas  visitors  to- 
day," she  said  to  the  two  girls  in  the  scullery;  "so  I 
think  we'll  have  roast  pigeon." 

Karl  had  to  go  and  catch  the  pigeons  in  the  coops; 
Karen  wrung  their  necks  herself,  as  she  stood  and  gave 
her  orders.  She  took  them  slowly  out  of  the  bag,  one 
by  one;  closed  her  big  coarse  hands  round  the  flut- 
tering bird,  as  though  enjoying  the  agonized  beating 
of  Its  heart.  "You're  so  nice  and  soft  and  warm,  in 
a  minute  you'll  be  dead,"  she  said,  as  she  held  Its  beak 
up  to  her  mouth  and  wetted  it  with  her  spittle.  Then 
she  cautiously  passed  her  thumb  and  middle  finger  over 
its  body  till  she  came  right  up  under  the  wings — and 
gave  a  sudden  squeeze,  with  a  peculiar  expression  of 
enjoyment.  She  held  the  gasping  bird  at  arm's  length 
and  watched  It  Intently;  the  beak  opened  wider  and 
wider,  the  eyes  were  extinguished  under  the  milk-white 
rims,  and  all  at  once  the  bird's  head  fell  to  one  side 
like  a  broken  flower.  It  was  an  ugly  sight.  But 
Karen,  with  a  laugh,  flung  the  dead  bird  on  the  kitchen 
table  to  the  girls.  "There,  that  one's  lost  Its  breath; 
now  you  can  take  off  Its  garment  of  innocence,"  she 


WINTER  DARKNESS  87 

said,  reaching  down  into  the  bag  for  the  next — she  was 
In  great  good  hiamor. 

In  the  course  of  the  afternoon  they  arrived,  in  two 
carriages !  They  were  a  noisy  lot,  hats  on  the  baclcs  of 
their  heads  and  cigar  in  mouth,  which  they  didn't  even 
take  out  when  they  shouted  or  swore.  Johannes  was 
the  most  rakish  of  them  all,  and  swaggered  as  if  he 
owned  the  place.  They  were  dealers  and  other  riff-raff 
from  the  capital,  where  he  was  living  now — the  sort 
of  people  who  scared  every  living  thing  across  the  ditch 
and  into  the  fields  when  they  came  into  the  country. 
As  soon  as  they  were  seen  tearing  along  the  road, 
people  at  the  farms  hurried  indoors,  as  though  they 
did  not  want  even  to  be  seen  by  such  company.  There 
they  stood  looking  timidly  out  from  behind  windows 
and  shutters  and  thinking  all  sorts  of  things. 

Sine  had  enough  to  do  in  the  kitchen,  so  Karl  had  to 
help  with  the  evening  milking.  He  was  sulky  and  ill- 
humored;  there  wasn't  a  word  to  be  got  out  of  him. 
Ditte  tried  time  after  time,  but  in  vain.  She  hated 
keeping  silent,  if  there  was  anything  on  earth  she 
needed,  it  was  talk.      She  would  make  him  answer. 

"Is  it  true  that  you  went  to  a  dance  the  other  night?" 
she  said.      "They  say  you  did." 

"Who  says  so?"  he  asked  angrily.  Now  she  had 
got  him  at  last ! 

"Somebody — I  shan't  say  who,"  she  answered  teas- 
ingly. 

"Then  you  can  just  tell  them  it's  a  lie."  Karl  for- 
got himself,  as  a  rule  he  never  used  such  strong  lan- 
guage. 


88  DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

"Why,  there's  no  harm  in  it — Oh,  of  course,  you 
think  it's  sinful  to  dance !  If  only  I  could  go  to  a  ball, 
a  really  swell  ball !"     Ditte  began  to  hum  a  tune. 

"You  ought  not  to  wish  that;  such  places  are  full 
of  sin." 

"Oh,  you  and  your  sin — you  say  that  about  every- 
thing. You're  a  regular  saint !  I  suppose  you'll  say 
it's  sin  to  eat  next? — Are  you  going  to  meeting  again 
this  evening?"  Ditte  regretted  having  teased  him  and 
turned  the  conversation  to  his  affairs  to  make  amends. 

"Yes,  if  I  can  get  off.     Will  you  come?" 

No,  Ditte  wouldn't.  She  had  been  once  or  twice, 
but  had  had  enough.  She  didn't  like  being  treated  as 
a  child  of  sin  by  all  these  self-righteous  people,  who 
were  so  pious  that  they  couldn't  hold  their  heads 
straight — even  worse  than  the  psalm-smiters  at  the  inn- 
keeper's meetings  at  home.  What  did  it  concern  her 
what  her  mother  had  done?  But  they  treated  her  like 
a  brand  snatched  from  the  burning. 

"It  isn't  any  good,"  she  said. 

Karl  did  not  answer,  he  never  pressed  her.  For  a 
while  nothing  was  heard  but  the  milk  streaming  into 
the  pails.     Then  came  a  noise  from  the  farmhouse. 

"Listen  to  them  shouting  and  yelling,"  he  said  bit- 
terly— "they  take  pride  in  their  disgrace!"  It  was 
his  mother  he  was  thinking  of — Ditte  knew  that  well 
enough.  "But  at  New  Year's  I'm  going  to  leave;  I 
won't  stay  and  look  on  at  all  this !"  He  always  said 
that,  but  he  could  never  bring  himself  to  it. 

"Well,  but  they  never  touch  one  another,"  Ditte 
demurred — "they  don't  even  kiss."     She  said  it  to  con- 


WINTER  DARKNESS  89 

sole  him,  but  not  without  a  hope  of  getting  him  to  tell 
her  something. 

"Oh,  you  don't  understand — you're  only  a  child!" 
he  exclaimed  in  despair. 

"You  always  say  that,  all  of  you!"  Ditte  answered, 
slightly  offended.  She  could  not  understand  what  this 
mysterious  something  was  that  she  was  not  allowed  to 
know.  "Was  it  that  about  her  changing  clothes  with 
him  the  other  day  at  the  hotel  at  Frederiksværk?" 

"Oh,  there  are  so  many  things — and  one  is  as  nasty 
■as  the  other."  He  stopped  suddenly  and  Ditte  noticed 
a  swelling  in  his  throat.  She  left  her  work  and  went 
up  to  him,  stood  in  the  dusk  of  the  cowshed  and  took 
him  by  the  shoulders.  She  knew  by  experience  the 
soothing  influence  of  touch.  But  with  him  it  had  the 
opposite  effect  and  he  began  to  sob.  "You  ought  to 
get  your  brothers  to  come  home  and  speak  to  her," 
she  said  quietly,  laying  her  cheek  against  his  hair. 

"They  will  never  come  home  any  more,"  he  answered 
and  pushed  her  away. 

Ditte  stood  still  for  a  moment.  Then  she  heard 
Rasmus  out  in  the  yard  and  hurried  back  to  her 
cow. 

At  half-past  nine  Karen  Bakkegaards  began  to  yawn 
and  scratch  her  legs,  which  were  covered  with  varicose 
veins;  this  was  the  sign  for  breaking-up.  Ditte  made 
haste  to  get  across  the  yard  before  the  lamp  was  put 
out  in  the  living-room.  She  was  not  really  afraid  of 
the  dark,  but  here  at  the  Hill  Farm  the  darkness  was 
alive,  something  uncanny  lurked  in  every  corner.     The 


90  DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

sea  roared  at  the  foot  of  the  ravine  and  sent  a  biting 
chill  up  into  the  open  farmyard;  it  was  as  if  some  one 
took  hold  of  her  under  her  clothes  with  icy  fingers. 
She  slipped  in  quickly  and  shut  the  door;  one,  two,  three 
— she  was  out  of  her  clothes  and  under  the  heavy  old 
quilt. 

The  bed  was  ice-cold  when  she  got  into  it;  she  drew 
up  her  knees  under  htr  shift  right  up  to  her  chin,  and 
her  teeth  chattered  for  a  while  until  the  worst  of  the 
cold  had  gone  off.  But  it  was  some  time  before  she 
got  the  quilts  warmed  through;  until  then  she  could 
not  fall  asleep,  but  lay  thinking — about  the  folks  at 
home  and  her  mother  in  prison,  about  money  and 
clothes,  about  what  had  happened — and  what  would 
happen  in  the  future.  For  a  brief  moment  her  thoughts 
dwelt  on  Granny,  but  passed  to  something  else;  Granny 
was  beginning  to  fade  into  the  background  of  Ditte's 
mind.  On  the  other  hand,  her  mother  came  up  oftener 
now;  it  was  as  though  she  appeared  and  claimed  her 
thoughts;  Ditte  could  see  her  clearly  and  had  to  occupy 
herself  with  her,  whether  she  wanted  to  or  not.  She 
was  very  unwilling,  and  was  glad  when  she  found  her 
thoughts  slipping  away  somewhere  else.  But  one  had  to 
be  careful  and  pretend  one  didn't  know  anything  about 
it.  As  soon  as  one  thought:  Ah,  now  my  thougrhts  are 
going  away  from  Mother! — then  at  once  they  dragged 
her  back  again.  They  came  and  went  as  they  pleased, 
vag;uer  and  vaguer  by  degrees  as  she  got  warm  and 
sleep  approached.  For  a  moment  they  dwelt  on  Big 
Klaus,  standing  a4:  home  chewing  comfortably  in  his 
stable  at  the  Crow's  Nest;  the  next,  they  were  at  the 


WINTER  DARKNESS  91 

new  hotel  that  was  to  be  built  at  the  hamlet — and  they 
just  brushed  past  Karl  on  the  way  to  sleep. 

Karl  was  as  far  as  possible  from  being  Ditte's  hero; 
the  man  she  was  to  admire  would  have  to  be  quite  dif- 
ferent. It  was  his  being  such  an  unfortunate  wretch 
that  stirred  her  feelings;  he  was  always  tormenting 
himself,  and  she  was  sorry  for  him.  It  was  enough 
to  make  one  weep  to  see  him  shambling  about,  home- 
less and  an  orphan  in  his  own  home ;  and  to  Ditte  com- 
passion was  a  summons  to  help.  She  was  only  too 
willing  to  bear  others'  burdens,  but  cudgeled  her  little 
brains  In  vain  to  find  a  remedy  for  his  condition,  and 
yet  she  could  not  give  it  up.  He  would  have  to  go 
far  away,  to  that  pleasant  brother  of  his,  and  help  him 
to  keep  school.  He  would  have  hard  work  to  make 
himself  respected,  but  he  had  such  a  nice  voice  for  sing- 
ing hymns ! 

She  herself  would  go  into  service  in  the  capital  and 
— lying  half  asleep — she  imagined  she  was  there  al- 
ready. It  was  the  schoolmaster  himself  she  was  keep- 
ing house  for,  and  she  was  just  bringing  him  his  coffee 
during  the  morning  playtime.  He  gave  her  a  cheerful 
smile,  for  she  had  made  fresh  cakes  with  the  coffee 
as  a  surprise.  "YouVe  a  good  little  housekeeper,"  he 
said,  stroking  her  hair.  DItte  was  going  to  curtsey, 
but  at  that  moment  one  of  her  legs  gave  a  jerk  and 
she  woke  up.  That  was  what  Granny  used  to  call  a 
sleep  warning.  *'Then  vou  ought  to  listen,  because 
you're  wanted  for  something,"  she  had  said.  And  DItte 
lay  still  and  listened,  raising  her  head  and  holding 
her  breath. 


92  DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

Outside  the  door  she  heard  a  miowing  that  sounded 
like  a  pitiful  appeal.  It's  Puss,  she  thought;  he's  cold 
and  wants  to  come  in — or  perhaps  he  can't  find  any- 
thing better  to  do.  "Go  into  the  barn  and  catch  mice, 
Puss !"  she  called  out  towards  the  door.  But  the  cat 
only  miowed  louder  and  scratched  at  the  door.  She 
jumped  up  and  opened  it,  and  the  wind  and  snow  blew 
in  on  her.  But  Puss  was  not  inclined  to  hurry;  it  was 
always  his  way  to  dawdle  when  he  ought  not  to;  she 
had  to  take  him  by  the  scruff  of  his  neck  and  haul  him 
in.  She  hurried  back  to  bed,  and  the  cat  jumped  up  on 
her  pillow  and  stood  arching  its  back  close  to  her  face. 
"Come  down  into  bed,  you  silly!"  she  said,  lifting 
up  the  quilt.  But  Puss  plumped  down  on  to  the  floor 
again  and  went  back  to  the  door,  where  she  could  see 
his  eyes  shining  in  the  dark;  he  stood  there  miowing. 
She  had  to  get  up  and  let  him  out  again — and  then, 
there  was  trouble  outside. 

Ditte  could  not  make  out  what  was  the  matter  with 
the  stupid  thing  to-night;  and  then  all  at  once  it  oc- 
curred to  her  that  he  had  not  had  his  evening  milk — 
she  had  forgotten  it!  It  was  a  pretty  bad  blunder  to 
forget  that — she  couldn't  understand  what  she  had  been 
thinking  of.  And  it  was  hard  luck — fearfully  hard 
luck  on  Puss,  who  had  to  go  and  catch  mice  all  night. 
If  mousers  didn't  get  their  fresh  milk,  they  let  you 
know  it !  To-morrow  he  should  have  a  double  quan- 
tity and  she  would  be  really  good  to  him. 

But  Ditte  was  not  to  be  let  off  so  cheaply.  Puss 
stayed  outside  miowing,  and  the  noise  grew  more  and 
more  aggressive.     She  had  neglected  a  creature   en- 


WINTER  DARKNESS  93 

trusted  to  her  care;  there  was  no  getting  over  that. 
The  cat  was  out  there  crying  pitiably  over  it — she  had 
not  been  kind  to  it ! 

Ditte  got  out  of  bed  and  put  on  her  wooden  shoes; 
she  took  hold  of  the  door-latch,  but  hesitated;  she  was 
trembling  with  cold  and  beginning  to  cry.  Outside  the 
wind  howled  and  it  was  pitch-dark;  she  opened  the 
door  a  little  way  at  a  time;  the  storm  beat  upon  the 
old  buildings  and  shook  the  doors  and  shutters — there 
was  a  moaning  and  giving  way  everyv/here.  Suddenly 
some  one  snatched  the  door  from  her  and  threw  it 
open  against  the  wall;  she  screamed  and  ran  across  the 
yard;  she  knew  it  must  be  the  wind,  but  was  frightened 
all  the  same. 

She  left  her  wooden  shoes  on  the  doorstep  of  the 
scullery  and  stole  in;  felt  her  way  to  the  bowl  and  the 
milk-pail,  while  the  cat  rubbed  itself  against  her  bare 
leg — which  gave  her  a  feeling  of  security.  She  filled 
its  bowl  by  dipping  It  in  the  pail;  it  was  a  dirty  thing 
to  do,  but  she  couldn't  help  It.  "Come  along,  Puss," 
she  whispered,  and  went  out  again. 

She  stepped  off  the  doorstep  carefully  so  as  not  to 
spill  the  milk,  and  tried  to  get  her  bearings  in  the  dark; 
she  was  smarting  with  the  cold  and  fright  sent  shivers 
up  and  down  her  back — gave  her.  a  tickling  feelilng  right 
up  to  the  roots  of  her  hair.  And  suddenly  she 
stopped,  stiff  with  terror;  before  her  stood  a  dark 
form  which  she  could  just  make  out  in  the  darkness. 
Ditte  was  going  to  scream  and  drop  the  bowl,  but  saw 
just  in  time  that  it  was  the  pump.  That  made  her  quite 
courageous  and  she  went  In  the  direction  of  the  barn- 


94  DITTE;  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

door;  the  cat's  milk  bowl  was  placed  In  the  barn  at 
night — to  make  him  stay  there. 

As  she  was  going  to  open  the  barn-door,  she  remem- 
bered the  suicide,  and  terror  seized  on  her  again,  came 
over  her  like  a  gust  of  wind.  She  wanted  to  run  away, 
but  then  Puss's  milk  would  have  been  spilt;  she  stood 
for  a  moment  quite  still  with  the  bowl  in  both  her 
hands — paralyzed.  Then  she  leaned  firmly  against 
the  barn-door,  so  that  nobody  might  come  out  and 
take  her,  while  she  put  the  bowl  down  in  the 
snow. 

When  she  stood  up  again,  there  was  a  light  in  the 
southern  end  of  the  farmhouse,  where  her  mistress  had 
her  bedroom.  Ditte  became  quite  calm  again  on  seeing 
it — and  a  little  curious  too;  she  had  plenty  of  time  now, 
though  she  was  so  cold  that  her  teeth  were  chattering. 
Karen  appeared  in  the  pantry  door  with  a  flickering 
candle  in  her  hand;  she  was  in  her  shift  and  had  her 
hair  twisted  up  in  a  cloth.  She  went  through  all  the 
front  rooms,  slow  and  listless  in  her  movements,  hold- 
ing the  candle  in  front  of  her,  and  in  the  other  hand 
something  or  other — a  knife,  perhaps.  So  she  must 
have  felt  hungry  and  come  down  to  cut  herself  a  bit  of 
cold  mutton ! 

In  the  living-room  she  stopped  and  lifted  up  what 
she  had  in  her  hand;  Ditte  saw  that  it  was  a  rope  and 
was  again  a  prey  to  every  kind  of  terror.  She  went 
backwards  across  the  yard,  with  little  sobs  such  as  a 
frightened  dog  makes  at  night,  for  she  could  not  turn 
her  back  on  that  vision.  Karen  came  through  the  scul- 
lery and  appeared  In  the  scullery  door;  there  she  stood 


WINTER  DARKNESS  95 

feeling  her  way  with  her  foot  and  staring  out  into  the 
night.     The  candle  flared  up  and  went  out. 

How  Ditte  got  to  bed,  she  didn't  know;  she  lay- 
crouched  together  deep  dov/n  under  the  quilt  and  shiv- 
ered. She  wished  she  could  fall  asleep  and  get  away 
from  all  this  terror,  and  then  wake  up  in  the  morning 
and  find  that  none  of  it  had  happened.  Sometimes 
things  turned  out  like  that. 

When  she  came  out  next  morning,  the  bowl  was  lying 
In  the  snow  by  the  barn-door  and  by  the  side  of  it  was 
a  rope;  there  were  the  prints  of  big  bare  feet  in  the 
snow.  But  Karen  herself  was  in  the  scullery  scolding 
— thank  God. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

WINTER  RUNS  ITS  TEDIOUS  COURSE 

**AT^  HERE'S  no  pleasure  In  life  here  at  the  Hill 
I       Farm — it's   enough  to  get  on  your  nerves," 
Sine  would  say  at  times.     And  yet  she  was 
the  one  who  seemed  to  get  on  best,  plump  and  even- 
tempered  as  she  was. 

It  was  just  as  if  the  darkness  was  heavier  and  the 
cold  sharper  here  than  anywhere  else;  all  troublesome 
things  became  harder  to  deal  with,  more  saturated  with 
their  own  essence.  At  times  the  darkness  might  be  so 
black  that  Ditte  would  scarcely  venture  out  in  it;  at 
every  instant  it  was  trying  to  knock  her  feet  from  under 
her,  with  strange  noises  and  one  thing  or  another. 
Nowhere  else  had  she  been  afraid  of  the  dark,  but  here 
she  would  get  into  such  a  state  that  she  dared  not  go 
into  the  barn  without  a  lantern  for  fear  of  Karl's  fa- 
ther who  had  hanged  himself  in  there.  In  the  ordinary 
way  she  faced  it  boldly  enough.  But  there  were  times 
when  the  foul  air  condensed — it  had  something  to  do 
with  Karen  Bakkegaards'  disorderly  life — and  when 
the  whole  place  seemed  haunted.  Karl  was  the  one 
who  felt  it  most;  there  were  some  days  when  nothing 
would  make  him  take  a  piece  of  rope  in  his  hand.  But 
it  affected  them  all.  The  old  bedclothes,  that  had  been 
handed  down  perhaps  for  a  hundred  years,  always  had 
a  strange  smell;  and  when  the  weird  fit  was  upon  the 

96 


WINTER  RUNS  ITS  TEDIOUS  COURSE     97 

farm,  this  smell  wove  itself  into  Ditte's  dreams  and 
filled  them  with  terror.  The  stench  of  tobacco  and 
sickness  given  off  by  the  old  bed-ticking  drew  her  with 
it  into  the  bedroom  where  the  consumptive  man  lay 
hanging  over  the  side  of  the  bed,  coughing  and  cough- 
ing with  red  foam  on  his  lips.  On  the  edge  of  the  bed 
sat  a  stout  woman  puffing  smoke  in  his  face — and  laugh- 
ing when  it  really  took  effect;  and  down  on  the  floor 
lay  a  little  boy  drawing  pictures  in  the  red  stuff  with 
his  fingers.  Then  she  woke  with  a  shriek,  struck  a 
match,  though  it  was  strictly  forbidden,  and  calmed 
down  again. 

That  was  how  the  feeling  condensed  at  times.  But 
she  shook  it  off  again;  after  all  it  was  something  that 
came  from  outside  herself. 

With  Karl  it  was  another  matter;  he  lived  under  the 
curse  itself  and  he  never  shook  off  anything.  Sine 
thought  he  would  have  to  be  prepared  to  face  all  sorts 
of  things.      "He  has  his  father's  nature,"  she  said. 

At  any  rate  there  was  nothing  of  his  mother  in  him, 
anybody  could  scare  him  out  of  his  life.  All  the  more 
remarkable  was  it  that  in  one  particular  way  he  as- 
serted himself  strongly  enough — nobody  could  make 
him  budge  an  inch.  He  would  not  touch  tobacco  and 
marked  his  disapproval  of  his  mother's  sinful  ways  by 
associating  more  and  more  with  the  goody-goody  folks. 
And  when  she  started  boozing  with  Johannes  and  his 
cronies,  he  joined  a  total  abstinence  society.  That  was 
his  protest — as  though  he  would  make  amends  for  his 
mother's  transgressions  one  by  one. 

But  when  it  came  to  defending  himself  he  was  no 


98  DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

good;  if  she  taunted  him  with  his  piety  he  said  noth- 
ing. "Yes,  you're  just  of  an  age  to  be  running  after 
petticoats,"  she  said  jeeringly,  alluding  to  his  going  off 
to  prayer  meetings — and  said  it  so  that  the  others  could 
hear.  He  took  no  notice  and  went  on  as  before.  It 
was  just  as  little  use  forbidding  him.  She  would  set 
him  to  work  at  something  or  other  to  prevent  his  get- 
ting away;  but  when  the  time  of  the  meeting  arrived, 
he  ran  off  just  the  same.  In  other  things  he  trembled 
like  a  dog  before  his  mother,  but  in  this  he  only  feared 
God. 

Ditte  would  not  have  minded  if  he  had  shown  a 
little  courage  in  other  ways  as  well;  for  instance,  if  he 
had  acted  as  a  buffer  for  her  and  Sine  when  their  mis- 
tress was  unreasonable.  But  then  he  always  slunk 
away. 

Karen  got  more  and  more  unreasonable  and  was  apt 
to  bully  them  and  find  fault  with  everything;  perhaps 
it  was  because  she  was  full  of  the  thought  of  marriage 
— pining  for  young  flesh,  thought  Sine.  At  any  rate  it 
brought  bitterness  and  ill-will  into  the  work,  and  the 
sour  atmosphere  plagued  Ditte  most  of  all — it  was 
everywhere  and  could  not  be  shaken  off. 

As  far  as  could  be  seen  she  had  not  suffered  at 
all;  no  light-hearted  carolings  had  been  silenced;  out- 
wardly she  had  always  been  seriousness  itself.  But 
she  had  a  spirit  of  her  own  deep  down  in  her  nature, 
a  quiet,  gentle  spirit  whose  usual  expression  was  th? 
plucky  way  in  which  she  tackled  every  kind  of  work. 
Through  this  she  had  saved  her  joy  in  life,  the  expres- 
sion of  which  in  games  had  been  denied  her  by  cir- 


WINTER  RUNS  ITS  TEDIOUS  COURSE     99 

cumstances;  and  it  was  this  that  had  made  her  so  suc- 
cessful at  home.  The  generosity  of  her  nature  had 
made  it  possible  to  preserve  the  sisterly  relationship  to 
the  little  ones  and  still  to  get  them  to  obey.  It  had 
not  always  been  easy;  good  intentions  often  had  to 
take  the  form  of  harshness  in  order  to  obtain  the  de- 
sired effect.  But  she  managed  it,  thanks  to  her  in- 
domitable spirit,  which  seldom  rang  out  with  its  own 
note,  but  which  gave  the  tone  to  all  she  did.  And 
she  succeeded  in  inspiring  the  others  with  her  good- 
will, and  thus  took  off  the  edge  of  the  harshness. 

She  had  been  obliged  to  smack  them  at  first,  in  order 
to  assert  herself;  but  she  succeeded  in  getting  beyond 
that  before  the  punishment  had  had  time  to  lead  to 
bitterness  either  in  herself  or  in  the  others.  When  pun- 
ishment was  needed — usually  for  the  children's  own 
sake — she  taught  herself  to  give  it  in  the  same  way 
as  Granny  used  with  her.  If  they  got  their  clothes  in 
a  mess,  they  were  made  to  feel  it  plainly  enough — 
they  were  put  to  bed  and  there  was  no  more  play  for 
them  until  their  things  were  clean  again.  The  pun- 
ishment followed  naturally  from  the  fault;  it  was  the 
dirtiness  that  took  its  revenge,  not  she.  "Now  you  see, 
if  you'd  been  careful,  it  wouldn't  have  happened,"  she 
would  say  Innocently  enough.  She  could  even  appear 
as  the  rescuing  angel  and  win  their  gratitude  for  putting 
things  right  for  them. 

Thus  she  had  had  to  find  her  way  as  best  she  could 
and  had  arrived  at  a  belief  in  the  essential  justice  of 
things — and  this  had  helped  her  to  govern  her  little 
world  so  well.     Disorder  was  the  result  of  a  lack  of 


loo        DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAJN 

interest  in  one's  work,  or  a  sour  temper;  she  hated  it 
instinctively  and  was  firmly  convinced  that  it  brought 
its  own  punishment.  If  you  sneaked  out  of  anything 
it  was  bound  to  come  back  on  you;  that  had  always 
been  so  as  long  as  she  could  remember — in  its  earliest 
and  simplest  form  when  she  wetted  her  clothes.  Now 
of  course  existence  was  far  more  complicated,  but  it 
held  good  all  the  same — you  simply  had  no  peace. 
It  might  be  when  you  had  put  on  stockings  with  holes 
in  them  in  the  morning — and  had  a  horrid  feeling  all 
day;  or  when  you  forgot  to  give  Puss  his  evening  milk 
and  had  to  get  up  in  the  middle  of  the  night  and  fetch 
it — because,  if  not,  you  couldn't  fall  asleep  but  thought 
you  heard  him  miowing  the  whole  time. 

Ditte  was  a  splendid  little  worker.  If  she  hadn't 
many  other  pleasures,  she  knew  the  pleasure  of  work, 
and  enjoyed  it  as  the  heart's  reward  for  its  goodness. 
Her  hands  were  rough  and  scrubby,  her  voice  was  harsh 
and  unlovely;  she  had  no  other  way  of  showing  the 
good  in  her  than  in  her  work.  There  she  expanded, 
like  a  modest  but  useful  flower.  There  was  nothing 
gaudy  about  it  all — a  little  good-natured  diligent  thing, 
that  only  wished  to  bloom  for  others. 

But  here  no  one  gave  her  any  credit  for  that.  They 
were  not  fond  of  work,  but  looked  on  it  as  a  nuisance, 
tackled  it  against  their  will  and  did  no  more  than  they 
could  damned  well  help.  That  was  why  everything 
was  all  over  the  place.  Ditte  felt  that  it  was  all  due 
to  their  not  being  fond  of  one  another.  There  was  no 
comradeship  among  the  Hill  Farm  people.  And  Uncle 
Johannes  was  not  going  to  make  things  better.     He 


WINTER  RUNS  ITS  TEDIOUS  COURSE  loi 

only  brought  quarreling  and  ill-will — she  knew  that 
from  the  Crow's  Nest. 

She  had  seen  enough  of  men  and  women  this  time 
and  longed  to  get  back  to  the  pasture.  She  pined  for 
the  spring  and  watched  intently  for  the  signs  of  its 
coming,  was  glad  when  the  first  of  the  snow  slipped 
off  the  roof  facing  south,  and  still  gladder  when  the 
first  tufts  of  grass  showed  up  amidst  the  snow  of  the 
meadow  like  a  shaggy  back.  It  was  the  earth  slowly 
heaving  itself  out  of  its  winter  sleep.  The  water  bus- 
tled everywhere,  first  making  ponds,  then  trickling  on; 
the  waters  of  spring  sang  their  song  day  and  night 
and  came  bubbling  out  of  the  wet  earth.  Signs  of 
growth  appeared;  one  day  the  ground  was  like  rising 
dough  to  the  feet.     And  above  it  sang  the  larks. 

On  a  day  like  this  she  tramped  over  the  meadows 
to  the  common.  She  was  to  go  and  ask  Rasmus  Rytter 
to  come  the  next  day:  the  spring  plowing  was  to  be- 
gin. He  had  not  been  at  the  farm  since  they  had 
finished  threshing  a  month  before;  there  had  been 
nothing  for  him  to  do.  The  water  had  not  yet  left 
the  clayey  parts  and  every  moment  the  moist  earth 
pulled  off  one  of  her  wooden  shoes;  she  had  to  stand 
on  one  leg  while  she  drew  it  out.  The  ground  held 
the  shoe  tight  in  its  greedy  lips,  and  when  at  last 
it  let  go,  It  did  so  with  a  deep  sigh  which  made  Ditte 
laugh. 

She  was  in  good  spirits.  It  was  jolly  to  get  away 
from  the  farm  for  a  while,  and  the  finest  thing  of  all 
was  that  there  was  light  everywhere  and  no  dark  cor- 
ners.    For  light  was  badly  needed  at  home  I 


102        DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

Rasmus  Rytter's  cabin  lay  at  the  far  end  of  the  com- 
mon, a  good  way  beyond  the  pasture.  Water  was 
lying  in  the  marshland  where  she  used  to  take  the  cat- 
tle; she  had  to  go  round  along  the  edge  of  the  fields. 
But  it  was  fun  to  look  down  and  recognize  her  nests, 
though  the  winter  had  pitilessly  laid  them  bare;  they 
gave  her  a  curious  homelike  feeling  and  made  her  long 
still  more  for  the  summer. 

Rasmus  was  not  at  home.  His  wife  was  messing 
about  the  fireplace  when  Ditte  came  in;  she  was  un- 
kempt and  still  in  her  under-bodice,  though  it  was  near 
noon.  The  place  looked  poor  and  dirty.  "You 
mustn't  look  at  me,"  she  said,  pulling  her  bodice  across 
her  bosom  with  her  black  hand.  "There's  such  a  lot 
to  do  to  put  the  house  straight  that  I  haven't  had  time 
to  see  to  myself  yet."  Well,  Ditte  saw  how  well  the 
house  had  been  put  straight!  Things  were  all  over 
the  place  and  the  beds  weren't  even  made  yet. 

In  one  of  the  beds  lay  a  couple  of  children  fighting; 
their  ages  might  be  about  six  and  seven.  "Are  they 
ill?"  asked  Ditte. 

"No,  that  they're  not,"  answered  the  woman.  "But 
we  haven't  enough  to  give  them  all,  so  they  have  to 
take  ttirn  and  turn  about  in  bed.  It's  been  a  down- 
right cruel  winter,  it  has." 

Ditte  had  to  stay  and  drink  coffee.  "If  they  hadn't 
gone  and  lost  the  grease-stick  for  me  you'd  have  had 
a  pancake  to  your  coffee,"  said  the  woman,  as  she  ran 
about  searching.  "I'd  promised  the  youngsters  pan- 
cakes for  dinner  to  keep  them  quiet,  and  I'd  got  the 
dough   all  mixed  ready,  I  had;  but  then   there  was 


WINTER  RUNS  ITS  TEDIOUS  COURSE  103 

nothing  to  grease  the  pan  with.  It's  a  funny  thing, 
though,"  she  said,  "I'm  sure  I  saw  the  boys  whacking 
each  other  with  it  this  morning  before  they  went  to 
school."  She  ran  to  the  back  of  the  cabin  and  stayed 
there  a  while,  bustling  about.  "Here,  you  hold  your 
noise,"  she  called  to  the  youngsters  in  bed  who  were 
howling.  "I  can't  do  any  more  than  I  can,  can  1?" 
Then  she  appeared  from  the  other  side  with  something 
in  her  hand;  it  looked  like  a  long  dirty  tallow  candle 
of  the  home-made  kind.  "Here  it  was  after  all — I 
thought  as  much,"  she  said,  slamming  the  pan  on  to 
the  fire.  She  took  the  thing  and  passed  the  end  of  it 
round  the  pan,  which  was  slightly  greased  and  began 
to  sputter  a  little. 

"What  is  it?"  asked  Ditte,  wondering.  "Is  it  a 
candle?" 

"That? — it's  a  boar's  pizzle,  that's  what  it  is.  It 
always  hangs  here  in  the  chimney,  but  this  morning 
the  old  man  took  it  to  grease  his  boots  with,  and  then 
the  boys  got  hold  of  it." 

"There  isn't  much  grease  in  It,"  said  Ditte,  greatly 
interested  in  the  result;  she  would  have  liked  to  see 
anybody  that  could  stop  those  pancakes  sticking  to 
the  pan. 

"No,  It's  getting  a  bit  dry,  it's  from  an  old  boar, 
that's  why.  It's  best  for  greasing  backsides;  the  old 
man  always  takes  it  when  the  youngsters  want  a  whack- 
ing.   But  sit  you  down  now,  the  coffee's  coming." 

No,  Ditte  had  to  hurry  off.  "Or  else  I  shall  get  a 
scolding,"  she  said.  She  didn't  want  any  of  those 
pancakes. 


I04         DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

"Oh,  well.  It  was  a  good  thing  you  came,  for  the 
old  man's  getting  so  sour  and  don't  know  where  to  turn. 
You  can't  put  anything  decent  before  him  when  there's 
no  earnings — and  then  you  can  be  sure  there's  no  peace 
in  the  house.  If  we  hadn't  had  a  few  herrings  in  the 
barrel  and  some  potatoes  in  the  pit,  we  should  have 
been  in  a  bad  way.  It's  been  a  dirty  winter  for  us  here. 
The  weather's  been  sour,  they're  sour  at  the  Hill  Farm, 
and  he's  sour  himself — so  how's  he  to  look  for  anything 
but  sourness?  It'll  do  me  real  good  to  get  rid  of  him 
for  a  bit." 

The  days  grew  long  and  light.  Ditte  was  not  al- 
lowed to  burn  a  candle  in  her  little  room,  but  now  it  was 
light  enough  if  the  upper  half-door  was  left  open. 
There  was  no  window. 

She  had  her  little  room  in  the  oldest  wing  of  the 
buildings,  which  once — perhaps  a  couple  of  hundred 
years  ago — had  been  the  dwelling-house.  The  stone 
floor  still  remained  from  the  time  when  it  had  been 
used  as  a  kitchen.  The  open  chimney  was  still  there 
too,  but  was  closed  at  the  height  of  the  ceiling  by 
straw  laid  on  stakes;  her  bed  stood  in  the  chimney 
opening  as  in  an  alcove — there  was  just  room  for  it. 
Above  the  bed  there  was  still  the  toothed  iron  rod  on 
which  the  pot  had  hung.  When  it  rained,  ancient  soot 
used  to  pour  down  the  wall  by  her  pillow;  the  strong 
smell  reminded  her  of  Granny  and  brought  melancholy 
dreams.  It  sometimes  happened  that  mice  gnawed 
their  way  through  the  blocked  chimney  and  fell  on  to 
her  quilt. 


WINTER  RUNS  ITS  TEDIOUS  COURSE  105 

But  Ditte  was  delighted  with  her  den;  it  was  the 
first  time  in  her  life  she  had  had  a  room  of  her  own. 
She  had  decorated  it  with  an  old  wooden  case,  which 
she  had  put  up  on  end  and  spread  a  white  cloth  on  top. 
It  served  both  for  dressing-table  and  washing-stand. 
And  along  the  top  of  the  open  chimney  she  had  fastened 
a  long  blue  valance  with  tassels  which  she  had  found 
in  the  loft;  it  had  once  belonged  to  a  four-post  bed  and 
brightened  up  her  alcove  a  great  deal.  On  the  dressing- 
table  stood  a  scrap  of  looking-glass. 

Here  she  spent  her  happiest  hours;  whenever  she 
had  any  spare  time  she  went  off  to  her  little  room.  It 
had  been  pretty  cold  in  winter  with  the  open  half-door, 
but  now  it  was  all  right.  Then  she  would  take  out  her 
various  treasures  and  handle  them,  laying  down  one 
thing  and  taking  up  another,  spreading  it  out  and  then 
folding  it  neatly.  She  could  do  this  over  and  over 
again  and  it  gave  her  heartfelt  pleasure.  There  was  a 
piece  of  embroidery  for  which  she  had  been  praised  by 
the  schoolmaster's  wife  while  they  were  still  living  at 
the  Crow's  Nest;  an  album  in  which  some  of  her  con- 
firmation class  had  written  their  names,  and  a  photo- 
graph of  the  whole  class.  That  was  the  only  time  she 
had  been  photographed,  and  she  still  looked  with  the 
same  surprise  and  curiosity  at  the  thin  little  girl  who 
was  supposed  to  represent  herself — the  smallest  of  the 
lot,  and  the  ugliest,  she  thought.  What  she  chiefly 
wondered  was  whether  she  would  ever  look  as  nice  as 
the  rest.  She  had  no  exaggerated  opinion  of  her  own 
appearance,  and  what  could  have  given  her  one?  No- 
body had  ever  said,  What  a  pretty  little  girl !  about  her. 


io6         DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

And  what  was  there  to  make  her  pretty?  The  blood 
that  circulated  through  her  body  was  not  exactly  sweet- 
ened in  its  passage  through  the  heart;  it  found  there  a 
mass  of  troubles  and  carried  all  their  bitterness  into 
the  rest  of  her  frame,  and  on  that  she  had  to  be  nour- 
ished. Her  color  was  still  bluish  from  it,  and  it  was  hard 
to  get  rid  of  the  thinness  and  boniness  that  resisted  the 
growing  roundness  of  her  figure.  And  her  crookedness 
stuck  to  her  to  the  last;  it  had  been  well  helped  by  the 
severe  winter  work.  Altogether  the  result  was  a  mixed 
one;  she  could  not  be  called  pretty  yet! 

But  she  was  happy,  she  had  never  enjoyed  the  spring 
so  much  as  this  year.  And  the  sunlight  made  up  for  a 
great  deal.  It  just  took  her  face  and  figure  as  they 
were  and  made  short  work  of  all  the  angularities. 
Sometimes  she  was  quite  a  picture  of  sunshine  and 
smiles  as  she  crossed  the  farmyard  with  the  deep  blue 
sea  of  spring  as  a  background.  "Why,  how  happy  you 
look,  my  girl!"  Sine  exclaimed,  laughing  herself.  "Is 
it  because  you're  going  to  take  the  cattle  out?" 

That  is  just  how  she  looked  on  a  day  in  the  middle  of 
May  when  she  started  out  with  the  cattle  again.  And 
the  beasts  looked  as  she  did.  Their  hair  had  grown 
long  in  the  course  of  the  winter  and  they  were  thin  too, 
but  the  light  and  the  wind  played  about  them,  and  they 
were  full  of  friskiness.  They  kicked  up  their  hind  legs 
in  the  maddest  way  as  if  they  were  trying  to  reach  the 
sun,  and  started  off  in  a  wild  gallop  across  the  fields 
toward  the  Common.  And  Ditte  followed  them  light 
at  heart. 


CHAPTER  IX 
A  SUMMER  DAY 

THE  first  few  days  Ditte  was  out,  she  had  taken 
her  lunch  over  to  Rasmus  Rytter's  cabin,  but 
now  the  youngsters  came  to  fetch  it  themselves 
morning  and  afternoon.  They  came  in  a  body  and 
were  always  there  before  she  was;  when  they  lay  hud- 
dled together  in  one  of  her  nests,  waiting  for  her. 
They  were  as  shy  as  young  plovers  and  generally  hid 
when  they  saw  any  one  coming;  as  soon  as  they  had 
got  the  food  they  darted  off  one  after  the  other — 
as  though  they  were  running  away  with  something 
stolen.  When  they  had  gone  a  little  way  they  sat 
down,  each  by  himself,  and  began  to  devour  it.  She 
had  to  be  careful  to  divide  it  among  them;  it  was 
no  use  trusting  one  of  them  with  another's  share, 
they  were  too  hungry  for  that.  They  had  not  much  on : 
a  ragged  pair  of  breeches  and  perhaps  something  that 
was  meant  to  be  a  shirt  as  well;  but  they  didn't  want 
much  either  in  the  summer  weather.  And  they  were 
quick  on  their  feet! 

One  day  she  set  to  work  to  scrub  a  little  of  the  dirt 
off  them,  but  it  was  not  a  success.  On  the  following 
day  they  would  not  venture  down  to  her,  but  lay  up  by 
the  hedge  and  watched  her;  as  soon  as  she  approached 
they  bolted.  She  held  up  the  food  for  them  to  see,  but 
it  was  no  good.    Then  she  left  it  where  they  had  been 

107 


io8        DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

and  went  back  to  the^marsh;  and  a  little  while  after  it 
was  gone.  They  were  like  chickens  hatched  out  of  the 
way  in  some  strawstack,  half  wild  and  full  of  suspicion; 
there  was  no  way  of  making  up  to  them.  But  when 
they  were  on  their  own  ground  they  were  quite  different. 
At  home  in  the  cabin  they  made  a  row  all  day  long  that 
could  be  heard  right  across  the  Common — and  their 
mother's  scolding  voice  trying  to  make  itself  heard 
among  them. 

Their  breeches  hardly  ever  had  any  buttons,  so  that 
they  had  to  hold  them  up  when  they  ran.  This  irri- 
tated Ditte,  and  one  day  she  caught  one  of  them  and 
held  him  fast.  "You  won't  get  anything  to  eat  till  I've 
sewed  this  on,"  she  said,  taking  a  button  out  of  her 
pocket.  Then  he  submitted  to  the  operation,  stamping 
his  feet  all  the  time,  and  as  soon  as  she  had  wound  the 
thread  round  and  snapped  it  off,  he  tore  away — still 
holding  on  to  his  breeches.  "Let  go,  you  stupid !"  she 
called  out  with  a  laugh.  Then  he  let  go,  and  when  he 
found  they  kept  up  of  their  own  accord,  he  got  quite 
wild  and  rushed  round  her  at  a  frantic  pace,  round 
and  round  in  the  same  narrow  circle,  leaning  inwards 
like  a  tethered  foal.  Ditte  saw  quite  well  that  it  was 
done  in  her  honor  and  followed  him  admiringly  with 
her  eyes.  "That's  very  fine,"  she  cried.  "That's  very 
nice  of  you.  But  you  can't  keep  it  up  any  longer,  come 
and  take  your  food."  Oh,  yes,  he  could  do  another 
round  yet;  and  then  came  up  to  her  puffing  and  received 
his  share.  This  time  he  didn't  run  off  with  it,  but  lay 
down  beside  her  and  ate  it. 

That  made  the  others  stop  and  allow  her  to  mend 


A  SUMMER  DAY  109 

their  clothes.  By  degrees  they  gained  confidence  in  her 
— and  before  she  knew  where  she  was  she  had  another 
little  family  to  take  care  of.  It  was  no  light  job  and  it 
gave  her  a  feeling  of  satisfaction;  Ditte  had  a  way  of 
enjoying  life  when  her  hands  were  busy. 

She  got  as  far  as  making  them  let  her  wash  them,  and 
that  gave  her  something  to  do.  The  worst  part  of  it 
was  their  little  heads;  there  was  hardly  anything  to  be 
done  with  them.  She  would  have  to  steal  a  little 
paraffin  and  bring  it  out  with  her! — 

One  afternoon  she  soused  their  heads  with  paraffin; 
she  had  to  tell  them  stories  about  Big  Klaus  while  she 
did  it,  to  make  them  stand  still.  When  it  was  over  they 
stood  with  blinking  eyes,  looking  as  if  they  had  fallen 
into  a  strange  world.  *'Does  it  smart?"  she  asked  with 
a  laugh. 

"Yes.  But  they're  not  biting  any  more,"  they  an- 
swered in  surprise. 

"Now  you  may  go  home,"  she  said. 

They  took  no  notice  and  sat  down  by  her.  "Tell  us 
some  more,"  they  asked. 

"No,  run  away  now.  And  then  you  shall  hear  som.e 
more  to-morrow." 

"About  Big  Klaus?" 

"Yes,  and  about  Pers  the  cat,  who  could  open  doors 
by  himself."  Then  they  shuffled  off;  but  there  wasn't 
much  hurry  about  it. 

Ditte  got  the  cattle  together,  and  then  undressed  and 
washed  herself  in  a  little  pool  that  was  hidden  by 
bushes.  She  lay  on  her  stomach  in  the  shallow  tepid 
water  and  played  at  swimming;  when  she  raised  herself 


no        DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

on  her  hands  and  lowered  herself  again,  the  water  took 
hold  of  her  stomach  and  her  firm  little  breasts  with  a 
soft  clucking  sound.  Her  skin  was  not  so  grimy  as  last 
summer.  She  sat  up  on  the  grassy  bottom  and  scrubbed 
herself  to  get  the  last  of  it  off. 

Then  she  sat  on  the  dry  bank,  half  dressed,  and  went 
over  her  clothes;  she  had  sewing  things  in  a  paper  be- 
side her.  The  cattle  were  feeding  quietly,  there  was 
time  and  leisure  for  her  own  occupations — clothes  and 
the  rest,  and  that  was  what  Ditte  wanted  now.  She 
was  glad  to  be  alone. 

She  sat  humming  to  herself,  half  absorbed  in  her 
work,  happy  and  free  from  care.  Scraps  of  thoughts 
and  impressions  fluttered  through  her  head  and  went 
again  without  her  seizing  them;  the  warmth  of  the 
earth  rose  from  the  thick  carpet  of  moss  and  half-dry 
grass  and  embraced  her.  She  was  growing  as  she  sat. 
There  was  a  rumbling  of  wheels  from  the  high  road 
and  she  listened  to  the  distant  sound — it  was  somebody 
In  a  hurry.  But  she  wouldn't  trouble  to  get  up  and  run 
Into  the  meadow  to  see  who  it  might  be. 

In  the  course  of  the  afternoon  Karl  came  down 
across  the  fields  from  the  farm,  so  there  was  some- 
thing the  matter  at  home.  "He's  there  again,"  he  said, 
throwing  himself  down  by  her  side — "they're  half- 
drunk  already."    He  turned  his  face  away. 

"Then  you'll  clear  out,  I  suppose?"  asked  Ditte  with 
a  teasing  smile.  She  couldn't  understand  how  he  could 
stay  hanging  about  at  home. 

"I  told  Mother  1  should,  but  she  only  says,  Go  on 
then !     She  doesn't  care  about  me  or  anything  else,  as 


A  SUMMER  DAY  iii 

long  as  she  gets  her  way.  But  now  I  mean  It — I've 
packed  up  my  things.  I  only  wanted  to  say  good-by 
to  you."  He  waited  a  little  while.  "Don't  you  care 
either  that  I'm  going  away?"  he  asked,  taking  hold  of 
her  plaits. 

Ditte  shook  her  head  decisively.  "No,  just  you  go 
and  don't  worry!"  He  had  never  made  things  any 
easier  for  her, 

"Haven't  I  behaved  well  to  you,  then? — haven't  I, 
Ditte?"   he  repeated,  as  she  remained  stubbornly  silent. 

"No,"  came  her  answer  at  last  in  a  low  voice.  She 
had  tears  in  her  eyes  as  she  thought  of  all  the  times 
when  he  ought  to  have  taken  her  part  against  unjust 
treatment,  but  did  not  do  so. 

Perhaps  he  had  the  same  thoughts.  "No,  I  know 
that  well  enough,"  he  said  quietly — "for  I  was  a  cow- 
ard. But  now  I'm  not  one  any  longer.  From  now  on 
I  shall  try  to  be  a  good  and  brave  man." 

"Yes,  for  now  you  have  a  real  sorrow,"  said  Ditte, 
looking  him  in  the  face.  She  knew  how  hard  it  was  to 
leave  home. 

He  gazed  helplessly  before  him:  "The  worst  of  it 
is  that  it's  Mother — and  then  all  that  folks  say  about 
us.  They  stare  at  one,  and  then  put  their  heads  to- 
gether and  whisper.  People  are  disgusting — wicked 
they  are  !  But  we  mustn't  think  that — we  ought  to  love 
our  neighbors,"  he  suddenly  corrected  himself. 

"It's  nothing  to  worry  about,  all  that,"  said  Ditte 
encouragingly;  "let  people  talk.  As  long  as  you  know 
you  haven't  done  any  wrong,  what  does  it  matter  what 
people  say?     You  said  yourself  the  other  day  that  if 


112         DITTE;  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

only  one  was  at  peace  with  God,  it  was  all  the  same 
what  folks  thought  about  one." 

He  leaned  his  head  against  her  shoulder  and  sat  with 
closed  eyes.  "It  is  so  hard  to  be  strong  in  God,"  he 
said  quietly.  *'If  only  one  had  Him  by  one's  side  instead 
of  within  one — so  that  one  could  see  Him."  He  was 
absently  passing  his  hand  over  her  back,  then  all  at 
once  he  sat  upright  and  looked  at  her  searchingly.  Her 
bodice  had  slipped  down  over  one  shoulder — she  had 
not  buttoned  it  properly;  her  shoulderblade  stuck  out 
a  little. 

**What's  that  you  have  there  ?"  he  asked,  keeping  his 
hand  on  the  spot. 

"Oh,  that  comes  from  carrying  my  little  brothers  and 
sister  so  much,"  she  said,  blushing  and  hastily  covering 
herself.  "It's  almost  gone  now,"  she  added  in  a  low 
tone — with  her  face  turned  away  from  him. 

"You  need  not  be  ashamed  of  it,"  he  said,  getting 
up.    "I'm  not  like  some  of  them!" 

No,  Ditte  was  not  ashamed  for  him — or  afraid  of 
him  either;  he  was  only  unhappy,  nothing  else.  But  she 
was  sorry  he  had  noticed  that  crookedness,  now  that  it 
was  almost  gone.  After  that  she  always  made  an  effort 
to  hold  herself  upright;  she  wanted  to  be  straight  in 
the  back  and  round  in  the  breast  like  other  girls. 

The  word  sin  always  rang  in  her  ears  after  her  talks 
with  Karl.  Was  it  sin  to  wish  to  be  pretty — and  was 
it  any  use?  Of  course  her  father  thought  she  was  al- 
ready. "You're  getting  quite  a  pretty  girl,"  he  said 
every  time  she  came  home.  But  he  was  an  interested 
party;  Ditte  would  not  have  minded  hearing  it  from 


A  SUMMER  DAY  113 

other  people  as  well.  She  wanted  of  course  to  be  a 
good  girl  above  all  else,  but  it  could  never  do  any  harm 
to  be  rather  nice-looking  too ! 

These  were  the  thoughts  she  went  about  with — these 
and  others :  she  no  longer  flew  from  one  thing  to  an- 
other; Ditte  had  time  to  ponder.  And  that  she  had 
learnt  at  last.  While  she  washed  in  the  pools,  she  dis- 
covered herself  inch  by  inch — without  its  giving  her  any 
great  pleasure  at  present.  There  were  many  faults  to 
be  found! 

But  by  many  different  paths  her  attention  was  di- 
verted from  the  outward  to  the  inward.  One  day  she 
established  the  fact  that  she  had  round  knees — so  she 
would  be  kind  to  her  husband  !  That  was  in  itself  a  mat- 
ter of  course,  nobody  could  ever  say  she  had  been  un- 
kind to  any  one;  but  it  was  a  fine  thing  to  have  a  tangi- 
ble proof  of  it.  One  by  one  she  became  conscious  of  dif- 
ferent sides  of  her  nature,  and  sometimes  this  made  her 
really  glad.  She  did  not  suffer  from  false  modesty; 
existence  was  poor  enough  without  her  making  it  any 
poorer.  Here  comparison  of  herself  with  others  was 
not  exactly  to  her  disadvantage — she  thought  she  could 
stand  it  on  the  whole.  But  then  there  was  the  unfortu- 
nate circumstance  that  people  paid  most  attention  to 
the  outside. 

But  in  looking  into  herself  she  found  other  things 
which  did  not  fill  her  with  joy,  but  only  with  strange 
wonder.    And  sometimes  they  m.ade  her  anxious. 

The  sun  and  the  wind  played  with  her,  with  marked 
results.  There  was  laughter  in  her  now;  it  was,  so  to 
speak,  stored  up  in  her  nature  and  constantly  made  it- 


114         DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

self  felt  as  a  tickling  sensation,  a  tendency  to  burst  out 
even  at  serious  moments.  But  besides  the  laughter 
something  else  flitted  within  her  like  a  ghost,  disquieting 
thoughts,  sensations  she  could  not  refer  to  anything  she 
knew.  Day  by  day  she  came  across  words  and  actions 
which  caused  some  change  within  her.  A  hand  had 
thoughtlessly  taken  hold  of  her  plaits — from  that  day 
she  was  conscious  of  her  hair;  It  felt  like  something 
separate,  a  being  that  demanded  attention.  She  had  to 
put  her  hand  up  to  It,  feel  if  it  was  tidy,  lift  It  when  It 
lay  too  close  to  her  head,  or  plait  It  again.  And  out  of 
gratitude  for  the  attention  she  gave  It,  It  began  to  grow 
and  got  thicker  and  softer. 

A  growth  was  going  on  In  Ditte.  She  had  strange 
sensations,  now  here,  now  there,  as  though  sap  was 
flowing  rapidly  to  one  part  of  her  body  or  another. 
Sometimes  she  felt  sore  all  over — and  dizzy;  it  was 
growing  pains,  Sine  thought.  All  day  long  she  could 
sit  quietly  by  herself,  tracing  these  feelings;  there  was 
unrest  in  her  budding  breasts.  She  heard  the  talk  of 
the  grown-ups,  their  obscure  allusions,  and  she  listened 
in  a  peculiar  way;  she  saw  the  behavior  of  the  men  and 
girls  with  each  other  in  a  new  light.  On  Saturday  eve- 
nings they  assembled  at  one  of  the  farms  farther  inland 
and  danced  out  of  doors  to  a  concertina;  and  Ditte's 
heart  throbbed  when  she  stood  in  her  little  room  and 
tidied  herself  to  run  over  and  look  on.  Once  in  a 
while  some  young  fellow  would  catch  hold  of  her  too. 
She  hit  out  at  them,  but  did  not  get  angry  any  more — • 
only  frightened. 

Her  mistress's  affairs  Interested  her  greatly.     She 


A  SUMMER  DAY  115 

was  beginning  to  understand  one  thing  and  another, 
and  guessed  that  within  this  strong  peasant  woman  hid- 
den forces  were  at  work  which  would  not  bear  the  light 
of  day  and  had  been  held  down  for  years,  but  now 
broke  loose  irresistibly.  Karen  Bakkegaards  was  in  the 
dangerous  transition,  said  Sine — a  mystic  word  which 
might  mean  a  good  deal.  If  she  came  in  contact  with 
her  mistress's  clothes,  a  queer  cold  thrill  ran  through 
her  and  there  was  a  tingling  at  the  roots  of  her  hair. 
Everything  and  everybody  was  dominated  by  this  singu- 
lar possession  of  Karen's,  Sine  and  the  farm  hands — 
and  the  son  too,  in  his  own  way;  a  strange  look  came 
into  their  eyes,  they  spoke  in  undertones  and  behaved 
mysteriously  with  covert  signs  and  glances.  This  weird, 
oppressive  feeling  haunted  the  whole  neighborhood; 
people  she  had  never  seen  before  came  up  and  began  to 
question  her — and  then  pulled  themselves  up  and  talked 
about  ordinary  things.  It  seemed  to  her  that  every- 
body was  watching  the  Hill  Farm. 

It  cast  its  shadow  far  and  wide.  When  people  came 
together  and  the  Hill  Farm  was  mentioned,  the  talk 
never  left  it  and  the  theme  was  always  the  same — love 
in  all  its  secret  and  fateful  transformations.  A  curious 
brightness  came  into  their  eyes  and  all  hidden  things 
were  dragged  out.    Every  corner  bred  its  mystery. 

Ditte  absorbed  it  all  with  eyes  and  ears  till  she  got 
into  a  state  of  nervous  tension ;  a  purely  physical  terror 
would  possess  her  and  distract  her  mind  so  that  she 
shuddered  for  no  reason.  One  day  when  she  sat  out- 
side the  yard  at  her  midday  milking,  she  discovered  her 
own  blood  on  the  milking-stool.     She  turned  dizzy;  no 


ii6        DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

one  had  ever  talked  to  her  about  what  was  to  come,  she 
had  had  no  mother  to  lead  her  gently  into  the  mystery 
of  Life.  Now  she  was  flung  into  it  with  brutal  sudden- 
ness; its  symbol,  blood,  was  connected  with  so  many 
other  horrors  in  her  scared  imagination.  She  staggered 
indoors,  white  v/ith  terror. 

In  the  doorway  she  met  Karl.  He  asked  her  what 
was  the  matter  and  with  some  difficulty  got  so  much  out 
of  her  that  he  could  guess  the  cause  of  her  alarm.  He 
smiled  goodnaturedly,  and  that  reassured  her;  it  was 
pretty  nearly  the  first  time  she  had  seen  him  smile.  But 
then  he  turned  serious.  "You  mustn't  worry  about 
that,"  he  said,  stroking  her  cheek;  "it  only  means  that 
you'll  soon  be  a  grown-up  woman." 

Ditte  was  honestly  grateful  for  his  consolation;  she 
was  not  sorry  that  he  should  be  in  her  confidence  over 
this.  To  her  he  was  not  exactly  a  man,  but  a  human 
being,  a  helpless  one,  who  had  often  had  need  of  her 
and  now  lent  her  a  helping  hand  in  return — it  was  so 
natural.  It  made  no  difference  to  their  relations  beyond 
this,  that  consolation  was  now  mutual.  She  too  had 
some  one  to  whom  she  could  trustfully  turn  when  things 
went  badly. 


CHAPTER  X 
SORINE  COMES  HOME 

DITTE  had  just  finished  feeding  the  four  little 
chaps  and  it  had  gone  off  well.  She  had  laid 
out  the  meal  on  a  little  tuft  and  placed  them 
round  it;  they  were  to  learn  how  to  sit  at  table  instead 
of  tearing  about  with  a  piece  of  bread  in  their  hand. 
And  they  were  to  learn  to  help  themselves  from  a  com- 
mon dish  without  grudging  each  other — that  was  about 
the  hardest  thing.  They  liked  each  to  have  his 
own  share  which  he  could  sit  and  gloat  over  greedily, 
or,  better  still,  sneak  off  with  it  and  devour  it  by  him- 
self like  a  stray  dog.  Ditte  forced  them  to  sit  still 
and  eat  out  of  the  same  trough.  If  she  gave  one  of 
them  a  piece,  the  other  three  followed  it  with  greedy 
looks — their  eyes  were  more  on  each  other's  food  than 
on  their  own.  Then  she  was  down  on  them  again;  she 
could  not  bear  envy.  And  their  envy  was  still  shown 
even  when  they  had  had  their  fill;  Ditte  remembered 
the  truth  of  Granny's  saying,  that  God  satisfies  the  belly 
before  the  eyes.  "You  must  behave  nicely  like  Povl 
and  Else  and  Kristian,"  she  said.  "They  always  share 
with  one  another,  when  they  have  anything."  And  by 
degrees  they  learned  their  lesson.  The  big  ones  didn't 
run  away  from  the  little  ones  any  more,  but  held  them 
nicely  by  the  hand — at  any  rate  as  long  as  she  could 
keep  an  eye  on  them ! 

"7 


ii8        DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

She  stood  up  on  the  slope  looking  after  them  as  they 
trotted  off  home  again.  There  were  often  quarrels 
among  them,  but  then  they  turned  their  heads  involun- 
tarily and  stole  a  glance  behind  them;  and  as  soon  as 
they  saw  that  she  was  still  standing  there,  they  took 
hands  again.  She  laughed.  "Oh,  yes,  I  can  see  you!" 
she  nodded. 

Ditte  was  lost  in  her  thoughts  of  them  when  she 
heard  a  strangely  familiar  sound  from  the  direction  of 
the  high  road.  A  sight  met  her  eyes  coming  over  the  top 
of  the  hill  and  moving  down  towards  her — -a  cart  jolt- 
ing along  with  a  big  fantastic  creature  in  the  shafts,  a 
bag  of  bones  in  the  likeness  of  a  horse.  It  staggered 
cautiously  on  with  its  huge  shaggy  feet,  which  looked 
like  worn-out  brooms  sweeping  up  the  dust  of  the  road, 
and  the  vehicle  came  creaking  behind.  It  went  from 
one  side  of  the  road  to  the  other,  and  in  the  cart  sat  a 
big  figure  huddled  together,  flicking  automatically  with 
a  long,  thin  stick. 

Ditte  jumped  with  joy  and  ran  across  the  stubble 
fields  on  her  bare  feet  as  if  out  of  her  senses.  Lars 
Peter  raised  his  head  at  her  call,  and  Big  Klaus  im- 
perceptibly came  to  a  standstill. 

"Is  that  you,  my  girl?"  he  said  with  a  smile — 
strangely  serious.  "You  see,  I've  got  to  go  to  town  to 
fetch  Mother." 

"But  then  you're  going  the  wrong  way!"  Ditte  gave 
a  ringing  laugh.  It  was  too  comic  that  her  father  should 
mistake  the  direction,  when  he  knew  the  roads  better 
than  any  one  else.  "You're  only  going  further  and 
further  away!" 


SORINE  COMES  HOME  119 

"Yes,  1  know  that  well  enough.  But  the  thing  is  that 
Big  Klaus  can't  possibly  manage  the  drive — he's  turned 
forty  now."  Lars  Peter  gave  a  melancholy  smile. 
*'And  so  I  came  out  to  try  and  borrow  another  horse, 
only  I  don't  know  where  to  turn  to  for  it — we  hardly 
know  anybody.      I  suppose  it's  no  use  coming  to  you?" 

Ditte  thought  not.  Karen  Bakkegaards  was  so  spite- 
ful to  everybody. 

"There's  just  the  chance  that  this  affair  with  Jo- 
hannes might  have  made  her  a  bit  more  friendly." 

No,  she  didn't  think  so  at  all — quite  the  contrary. 
"You'd  have  done  better  to  try  at  Sands  Farm,"  she 
said,  "I'm  sure  there's  somebody  there  who'd  be  glad 
to  lend  you  a  horse." 

"Yes,  I  dare  say  they've  changed  their  minds  about 
us  now  we're  gone.  1  don't  know — somehow  I  had  the 
Hill  Farm  in  my  head;  but  I  dare  say  you're  right. 
Only  it's  a  shame  that  Big  Klaus  has  had  the  drive  for 
nothing." 

Yes,  there  was  no  mistake  about  it,  he  had  changed 
since  she  last  saw  him.  He  fell  asleep  as  he  stood,  with 
his  head  hanging  down.  Ditte  plucked  some  grass  from 
the  ditch  for  him,  but  he  wouldn't  even  smell  It. 

"It's  harder  and  harder  for  him  to  feed,"  said  Lars 
Peter.  "The  best  thing  for  him  would  be  to  be  knocked 
on  the  head." 

He  was  so  quiet  himself  to-day — there  was  some- 
thing almost  solemn  in  his  manner;  it  must  be  because 
he  was  going  to  fetch  Sorine.  He  seemed  lost  in  a 
dream  while  Ditte  was  petting  Big  Klaus  and  trying  to 
put  a  little  life  into  him.     "Well — it's  time  we  turned 


I20        DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

round  and  went  inland,"  he  said  at  last,  picking  up  the 
reins.  "You'll  look  in  at  home  when  you  get  a 
chance?" 

Ditte  nodded.  She  could  do  no  more,  in  the  state  in 
which  he  was. 

"It's  a  funny  kind  of  war  your  mistress  is  carrying 
on,"  he  said,  when  he  had  got  the  horse  started  again. 

"How  do  you  mean?"  asked  Ditte  with  interest.  She 
was  walking  alongside,  holding  on  to  the  body  of  the 
cart. 

"Well,  she's  helping  to  spread  scandals  about  herself. 
It's  a  strange  form  of  amusement;  one  would  think  she 
had  enough  to  keep  her  busy  as  it  was.  But  she  treats 
you  all  right,  eh  ?" 

Oh,  yes,  Ditte  had  nothing  to  complain  of. 

"But  cut  away  now  back  to  your  beasts,  before  any- 
body sees  you've  left  them.  You  know  what  farm- 
ers are  like,  they  lend  each  other  a  hand  at  getting  us 
into  trouble."  He  gently  took  her  hand  off  the 
cart. 

Then  Ditte  let  go,  against  her  will,  and  ran  back 
across  the  fields;  she  turned  round  every  moment  and 
waved;  but  her  father  was  already  plunged  in  his  own 
thoughts  again;  he  did  not  see. 

No,  to  tell  the  truth  Ditte  was  not  inclined  to  go 
home  and  make  a  fuss  over  her  mother's  return.  She 
had  caused  her  and  all  of  them  many  tears  and  much 
shame;  Ditte  thought  she  had  got  over  it,  but  some  of 
it  was  still  left  deep  down  in  her,  and  now  all  the  old 
thoughts  came  up  to  the  surface  again.  It  was  her 
mother's  fault  that  they  were  despised  and  treated  as 


SORINE  COMES  HOME  121 

outcasts — the  criminal's  family !    No,  she  had  no  great 
desire  to  go  home  and  see  her  again. 

But  that  no  longer  settled  the  question.  Before,  yes 
— then  it  could  simply  be  thrust  aside  by  so  many  other 
things  that  were  more  important,  but  now  it  forced  its 
own  way  into  the  foreground.  She  could  not  always 
stay  away  from  home — that  alone  gave  her  something 
to  think  of.  Her  mother  was  no  longer  safely  shut  up 
in  prison,  but  had  come  home  and  would  take  charge  of 
things  again.  How  would  she  set  about  it,  and  how 
would  she  behave  to  the  children?  These  were  serious 
questions  which  gave  Ditte  no  peace. 

And  then  an  entirely  new  thought  occurred  to  her — 
that  she  was  wicked  and  unjust.  This  came  upon  her 
quite  suddenly  in  connection  with  the  word  sin,  which 
haunted  her  thoughts  after  her  talks  with  Karl;  she 
had  never  regarded  her  relations  with  her  mother  from 
that  point  of  view  before.  She  was  forced  to  think  oi 
her  father,  of  his  solemn  seriousness  when  she  met  him 
on  the  road,  and  his  melancholy  tenderness  in  all  that 
concerned  Serine;  and  she  could  not  help  comparing 
him  with  herself.  There  was  nothing  in  Lars  Peter's 
example  that  taught  her  to  hit  one  who  was  down.  For 
the  first  time  she  understood  the  extent  of  her  father's 
conciliatory  spirit,  and  she  was  ashamed.  How  much 
he  had  suffered  through  Serine!  And  yet  he  kept  his 
home  ready  to  receive  her,  had  preserved  it  for  years 
as  a  sanctuary  where  she  could  take  refuge. — One  day 
she  fell  to  longing  for  home  and  the  feeling  was  so 
strong  that  it  made  her  cry. 

"What's  the  matter  with  you?"  asked  Karl  when  she 


122         DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

came  home  in  the  middle  of  the  day,  red  and  tear- 
ful. 

"I  want  so  much  to  go  home,"  she  said. 

"Then  run  off  after  dinner, "he  said — "I'll  look  after 
the  cattle.  She's  not  at  home,  she's  gone  to  town."  He 
didn't  like  saying  "Mother"  now. 

Sorine  was  standing  in  the  kitchen  washing  up  when 
Ditte  came.  Her  freckled  arms  were  shockingly  thin 
and  her  hands  were  strangely  clumsy,  as  though  she 
had  never  washed  up  before.  Her  cheeks  were  hollow, 
pale  and  patchy,  and  her  face  did  not  reflect  the  light. 
She  glared  at  Ditte  with  the  eyes  of  a  stranger — like 
a  frightened  animal,  Ditte  thought — then  dried  herself 
on  her  apron  and  reached  out  a  clammy  hand.  Ditte 
took  it  v/ithout  looking  at  her. 

They  stood  facing  each  other  for  a  while,  not  know- 
ing what  to  do.  Ditte's  heart  softened  and  she  was 
ready  to  cry;  if  her  mother  had  made  the  slightest  ad- 
vance she  could  have  thrown  herself  into  her  arms. 
But  Sorine  did  not  stir.  "Father  and  the  children  are 
down  at  the  harbor,"  she  said  at  last,  in  a  voice  that 
had  neither  warmth  nor  tone  in  it.  Ditte  went  down 
there,  glad  of  the  chance  to  get  away. 

Lars  Peter  was  standing  in  the  hold  of  the  decked 
boat,  cleaning  up;  the  children  sat  on  the  wharf.  He 
pulled  himself  up  through  the  hatch  and  came  ashore. 
"It  was  uncommon  nice  of  you  to  come  down  home," 
he  said  with  glad  emotion,  giving  her  his  hand. 
"Thanks!" 

"Oh,  there's  nothing  to  thank  me  for,"  said 
Ditte    with    a    wry    face;    she    was    ready    to    burst 


SORINE  COMES  HOME  123 

out    crying,    suddenly    overwhelmed    by    the    way    he 
took  it. 

"Oh  yes,  it  was  good  of  you — for  you  had  no  call  to 
do  it,"  he  said,  putting  his  arm  round  her  shoulder. 
"Anybody  would  have  understood  if  you  had  kept 
away.     Have  you  said  how  d'ye  do  to  Mother?" 

Ditte  nodded.  She  was  not  yet  quite  sure  of  herself; 
if  she  had  opened  her  mouth  to  answer,  it  might  have 
been  too  much  for  her.  And  she  was  not  going  to  howl 
any  more — not  at  any  price !  It  was  only  children  who 
cried — and  half-grown  girls  ! 

Lars  Peter  sat  down  on  a  bollard  and  pulled  off  his 
long  wooden-soled  boots;  they  reached  up  over  the 
thighs  and  it  wasn't  done  without  some  groaning. 
"We're  beginning  to  get  stiff,"  he  said,  wincing — "and 
then  there's  this  pain  in  the  joints.  It's  either  old  age 
coming  on  or  else  it  means  that  one  can't  stand  the 
trade." 

"Well,  what  do  you  think  about  Mother?"  he  asked 
as  they  sauntered  up.  "She's  a  little  strange  to  it  all 
yet,"  he  continued  as  Ditte  did  not  answer — "but  you 
can't  wonder  at  that — after  being  shut  up  all  those 
years.  She  must  have  been  glad  to  see  you. — Well, 
perhaps  you  couldn't  notice  it,  she  don't  quite  know  how 
to  find  words  for  it  yet.  But  one  can  see  well  enough 
that  she  has  warm  feelings  for  us  all  the  same.  Thank 
God  we've  got  her  home  again !  And  now  you'll  be  a 
little  kind  to  her,  won't  you? — she  wants  it;  folks  here 
don't  look  at  her  very  friendly.  They'd  rather  she'd 
stayed  where  she  was — so  we've  got  to  see  and  be  a 
bit  good  to  her." 


124        DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

Sonne  had  the  coffee  ready.  Lars  Peter  took  It  as  a 
kindness  and  looked  at  her  gratefully,  he  was  in  a  good 
humor.  She  went  about  silently  looking  after 
them,  like  a  stranger,  almost  like  a  ghost;  an 
impenetrable  atmosphere  separated  her  from  the 
others.  The  children  had  not  yet  got  accustomed  to 
her;  that  could  be  seen  in  their  eyes,  which  followed 
every  one  of  her  movements  suspiciously.  And  she 
herself  had  a  sort  of  look  of  having  fallen  unawares 
from  a  world  where  everybody  was  quite  differently 
constructed.  Ditte  wondered  whether  she  saw  and 
heard  anything  at  all  of  what  went  on  around  her; 
even  her  eyes  did  not  disclose  whether  she  followed 
their  talk.  It  was  not  easy  to  guess  what  she  thought 
about  it  all. 

Towards  evening  Ditte  had  to  leave  again;  Lars 
Peter  went  along  the  road  with  her.  "Don't  you  think 
Mother's  changed?"  he  asked  when  they  had  got  be- 
yond the  sandhills. 

"She  looks  poorly,"  Ditte  answered,  avoiding  the 
question;  she  was  not  sure  that  Serine  had  grown  any 
more  affection  from  being  shut  up. 

"Yes,  the  air  in  there  has  pulled  her  down.  But  In 
her  nature  too  she's  different — she  doesn't  scold 
any  more." 

"What  does  she  say  to  things  in  the  hamlet  here — ■ 
the  innkeeper  and  all  that?  And  to  our  selling  the 
Crow's  Nest?" 

"Well,  what  does  she  say?  She  really  doesn't  say 
anything,  but  goes  about  silently  from  morning  till 
night.    And  she  won't  sleep  in  the  room  with  the  rest 


SORINE  COMES  HOME  125 

of  us — she's  shy  of  company  now.  It's  difficult  to  get 
her  out  of  doors  too,  she'll  only  go  out  in  the  evening. 
All  the  same  it  seems  to  me  that  she's  more  contented — 
with  me  too." 

"What  about  the  neighbors?"  asked  Ditte. 

"Ah,  the  neighbors,  they  give  the  house  a  wide 
berth.  And  the  children  come  running  up  and  stare  in 
at  the  door — I  don't  know  if  it's  the  parents  that  send 
them.  If  they  catch  sight  of  Mother,  they  rush  away 
squalling  as  if  the  devil  was  after  them.  That  doesn't 
help  her  to  get  settled  down  again." 

"They  think  she's  got  a  mark  branded  on  her  fore- 
head," Ditte  explained.  She  had  believed  it  herself  and 
was  surprised  to  find  it  was  not  so.  "Has  nobody 
asked  you  out?"  she  asked. 

"No,  not  yet.  But  some  day  we  shall  see  one  or  an- 
other of  them  come  in  to  say  good-day — when  they've 
got  used  to  the  situation.  There's  more  than  one  that 
would  like  to  do  it,  but  they  daren't  because  of  the 
others." 

Lars  Peter  looked  at  Ditte  in  expectation  of  her  con- 
firming this  hope,  but  she  said  nothing.  And  her  silence 
was  equal  to  many  words;  she  didn't  look  at  the  pros- 
pect very  brightly. 

"I'm  a  little  afraid  myself  that  it  won't  work,"  he 
began  again;  "but  then,  we'll  just  have  to  find  another 
place.  The  world's  big  enough,  and  after  all  there's 
nothing  to  boast  of  here.  We  shan't  miss  much  by 
moving.  Only  it's  a  shame  that  one  has  had  to  put  up 
with  being  fleeced  of  everything;  it  won't  be  easy  to 
begin  again  from  the  beginning." 


126        DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

"But  won't  you  get  your  money  back  when  we  go?'* 

"Oh  no.  The  innkeeper's  not  the  man  to  give  up 
anything  when  once  he's  laid  his  dead  hand  on  it. 
Especially  now,  when  he's  said  to  be  in  difficulties 
himself." 

"The  innkeeper?    With  all  his  money?" 

"Yes,  it  staggers  you — and  plenty  more  too,  I  expect. 
No,  the  truth  is,  he  owes  money  to  the  banks  and  such 
like;  it's  all  borrowed,  they  say.  That's  why  he's  not 
building  the  hotel,  the  banks  won't  lend  him  the  money. 
We  thought  he  owned  the  whole  place,  but  far  from  it. 
They  say  he's  hard  put  to  it  to  meet  his  bills;  last 
quarter  day  they  even  expected  him  to  go  smash.  And 
that  explains  why  he's  hard  on  others." 

"Then  what  pleasure  can  he  get  out  of  it  all?  He 
might  just  as  well  have  let  us  keep  what  was  ours." 

"No,  I  shouldn't  think  there  was  much  pleasure  to 
be  got  that  way;  but  it  must  answer  to  something  in  his 
nature.  Just  now  the  brisling  is  pretty  thick  off  the 
shore  here;  so  thick  that  you  can  take  them  up  by  the 
bucketful.  It's  the  mackerel  that's  driving  them  in; 
they're  out  there  in  shoals,  eating  their  way  through 
the  crowd  and  pushing  them  on.  And  beyond  them 
again  there's  the  seal  and  the  porpoise  eating  up  the 
mackerel  and  driving  them  in.  That's  the  way  it  does 
here  too,  1  should  think;  he  sweats  us,  and  others  sweat 
him  and  the  likes  of  him  again.  I'd  like  to  know 
whether  there's  anybody  higher  up  that  eats 
thefn/' 

"It's  quite  strange,"  said  Ditte.  She  had  never 
imagined  any  one  above  the  innkeeper. 


SORINE  COMES  HOME  127 

"Ah,  strange  It  is!  You  might  say  it's  one  devil 
ruling  another.  But  it  does  one  good  to  think  that 
when  all's  said  and  done,  he's  no  better  off  than  the  rest 
of  us.  It  looks  as  if  there  was  a  scrap  of  justice  in 
it,  small  though  it  may  be." 


CHAPTER  XI 
DITTE  CONSOLES  A  FELLOW-CREATURE 

WHEN    Ditte   got   home,    the   yard   was    full 
of   strangers.      Karl    stood    outside    in    the 
meadow,  looking  out  as  if  he  expected  her. 
"It's  a  good  thing  you're  back,"   he  said  feverishly. 
''Mother's  come  home — with  a  whole  party.     She's  so 
mad  about  your  running  away  without  leave." 

"But  I  did  nothing  of  the  sort,"  Ditte  objected  in 
surprise. 

*'No,  but  that's  what  she  thinks.  Hurry  up  now  by 
the  back  way  into  the  scullery  and  get  to  work,  and 
then  perhaps  she  won't  notice.  Or  else  she'll  do  noth- 
ing but  scold."     He  was  quite  nervous. 

"But  why  didn't  you  say  you'd  given  me  leave  to  run 
home?"  asked  Ditte. 

"I  didn't  dare  to,  because — "  he  stood  shifting  his 
feet,  foolish  and  miserable. 

Ditte  went  in  through  the  gate  and  across  the  yard, 
she  didn't  like  back  ways.  If  she  was  in  for  a  rowing, 
she  would  just  take  it. — Sine  was  busy.  "Thank  good- 
ness you've  come  and  can  lend  a  hand,"  she  said;  "I'm 
pretty  near  out  of  my  wits.  But  you  can  thank  your 
stars  you  weren't  here  an  hour  ago ;  the  mistress  was  so 
wild  that  she  promised  to  thrash  you.  And  of  course 
that  skunk  Karl  must  keep  his  mouth  shut  about  giving 
you  leave  to  go." 

128 


CONSOLES  A  FELLOW-CREATURE    129 

"Oh,  he — "  Ditte  curled  her  upper  lip  in  scorn. 
"But  let  her  just  try  beating  me,  and  I'll  kick  her  shins 
with  my  wooden  shoes." 

"Goodness,  child,  are  you  crazy? — why  her  legs  are 
full  of  varicose  veins  1  Suppose  you  kicked  a  hole  in 
them  and  she  bled  to  death."  Sine  was  quite 
alarmed. 

"Well,  what  then?    I  shouldn't  care,"  said  Ditte. 

Ditte  was  put  to  wash  up.  She  was  angry  with  her 
mistress  for  wanting  to  thrash  her,  with  Karl  for  leav- 
ing her  in  the  lurch,  with  the  children  at  the  village  for 
not  leaving  her  mother  alone — with  everything.  She 
rattled  the  things  unnecessarily  as  she  washed  them, 
and  might  easily  smash  something;  Sine  had  to  tell  her 
to  keep  quiet.  But  the  girl  heard  nothing;  she  had 
taken  a  regular  fit,  little  bit  of  a  thing  as  she  was — it 
was  quite  funny!  Sine  had  to  take  her  firmly  by  the 
arm  before  she  would  behave.  "Ugh,  I'm  so  wild!" 
she  said. 

Sine  laughed  aloud.  "Then  somebody  else  has  more 
reason  to  be  wild !  They  come  running  out  into  the 
kitchen  one  after  the  other,  giving  orders — and  they 
have  some  cheek.  One  would  think  the  mistress  had 
taken  leave  of  her  senses.  She  generally  lets  you  know 
who  gives  the  orders  in  this  house." 

All  the  same  Karl  was  the  one  Ditte  was  angriest 
with.  He  wouldn't  come  indoors,  but  walked  about  the 
yard,  calling  out  that  he  protested,  found  one  job  after 
another  to  do — and  looked  wretched.  When  he  was 
quite  sure  nobody  saw  him,  he  shook  his  fist  at  the 
.parlor  windows.     Yes,  he  was  the  right  one  to  clench 


I30         DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

his  fists !  Ditte  felt  inclined  to  go  out  and  ask  him  if 
he'd  like  to  borrow  a  petticoat. 

No,  there  was  something  wrong  with  the  mistress 
to-day.  She  came  out  into  the  kitchen,  red  in  the  face 
and  with  her  skirts  tucked  up;  her  hair  was  in  disorder 
and  stuck  up  like  a  stallion's  mane.  Johannes  came 
running  after  her,  and  this  matronly  woman,  old 
enough  to  be  a  grandmother,  romped  with  him  like  any 
giddy  wench.  It  didn't  suit  her.  She  must  have  been 
drinking  freely — she  didn't  see  Ditte  at  all. 

Directly  afterwards  Karl  appeared  at  the  scullery 
door — he  had  been  just  outside  in  the  dusk  and  had 
seen  it  all.  He  made  a  sign  to  Ditte.  "You  mustn't 
laugh  at  it,"  he  begged  them — "I  can't  bear  it!"  He 
looked  pitiable. — Ditte  forgot  her  anger  in  an  instant. 
"No,  we  won't,"  she  said,  touching  his  hand.  "It  isn't 
anything  to  laugh  at  either.  But  you  go  to  bed  now — 
then  you'll  forget  it  all." 

He  went  outside  again  and  began  walking  up  and 
down  under  the  lighted  windows,  like  a  sick  dog.  Ditte 
saw  him  there  every  time  she  ran  to  the  pump  for 
water — and  threw  him  a  word  as  she  passed.  Once 
she  put  her  pail  down  and  ran  up  to  him.  "Go  to  bed, 
do  you  hear?"  she  said,  taking  his  arm  and  trying  to 
prevail  upon  him. 

"I  can't,"  he  answered,  half  crying,  "Mother  said 
I  was  to  stay  up  and  put  the  horses  in." 

"Pooh!  let  them  do  that  themselves.  You're  not 
their  slave." 

"I  daren't;  Mother  would  be  in  such  a  rage. — Oh, 


CONSOLES  A  FELLOW-CREATURE    131 

I'm  such  a  wretched  coward — I  daren't  do  anything." 

Ditte  pressed  his  hand  to  let  him  know  she  bore  him 
no  ill  will,  and  ran  off. 

At  about  eleven  o'clock  Sine  sent  her  to  bed.  "You 
must  be  dead  tired  after  your  long  walk,"  she  said. 
"And  you  were  up  early  this  morning  too — off  with 
you  now !"  She  made  short  work  of  Ditte's  protests 
by  pushing  her  out  of  the  kitchen. 

Yes,  Ditte  was  tired,  sure  enough,  so  tired  that  she 
was  on  the  point  of  collapsing.  She  stood  hesitating 
for  a  moment  in  the  dark  scullery — out  in  the  yard  Karl 
was  walking  about  in  his  wretchedness,  he  might  be  in 
need  of  a  kind  word.  But  what  if  he  came  In  with  her 
and  sat  on  the  edge  of  her  bed  and  talked — ^that  hap- 
pened sometimes  when  he  was  in  low  spirits  and  wanted 
consolation.  Ditte  was  too  tired  to  talk;  the  thought 
of  having  to  keep  awake  any  longer  positively  made 
her  feel  sick.  For  once  selfishness  triumphed;  she  sacri- 
ficed another's  need  to  her  own  and  stole  by  the  back 
way  over  to  her  little  room. 

Ditte  sat  for  a  while  on  the  edge  of  the  bed  with  her 
eyes  shut.  The  powerful  impressions  of  the  day  were 
working  in  her — and  her  tiredness;  she  was  so  dead 
beat  that  she  reeled.  Then  she  pulled  herself  together 
with  a  jerk,  slipped  out  of  her  clothes  in  a  second  and 
jumped  into  bed.  It  was  good  to  get  Into  the  cool  bed- 
clothes and  lose  one's  self,  fairly  sink  in  a  luxury  of 
tiredness.  As  soon  as  she  had  put  her  cheek  on  the 
pillow  and  turned  her  thoughts  to  something  nice,  she 
would  be  off. 


132         DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

As  your  thoughts  are,  so  are  your  dreams,  Granny 
used  to  say.  And  Ditte  wanted  to  dream  of  something 
pretty — and  wake  with  her  mind  full  of  vague  sweet- 
ness after  dreams  that  only  lasted  as  long  as  the  fleeting 
shreds  of  morning  mist,  vanishing  before  the  light  of 
day.  At  this  time  she  used  often  to  dream  about  the 
prince  who  was  to  come  and  take  her  away  to  his 
father's  castle — as  Granny  had  foretold  in  the  spinning- 
song.  In  the  daytime  there  were  no  princes — at  any 
rate  not  for  a  poor  girl  like  Ditte;  but  at  night  the 
prince  really  existed  and  came  and  asked  her  hand  of 
Granny.  That  was  just  the  splendid  thing  about 
dreams,  that  they  took  you  and  lifted  you  up  into  the 
light,  so  that  you  could  see  everything  from  above. 
But  they  were  not  free  from  troubles  all  the  same,  for 
he  didn't  think  she  was  pretty.  "No,  because  the  most 
beautiful  thing  about  her  is  inside,"  said  Granny — "she 
has  a  heart  of  gold." 

"Gold?'.'  said  the  prince,  opening  his  eyes  wide. 
"Let  me  see !"  Then  Granny  opened  and  showed  him 
Ditte's  heart.  "But  we  don't  like  doing  it,"  she  said; 
"it  might  easily  get  dusty." 

And  the  prince  was  pleased — for  he  knew  all  about 
gold.  He  took  her  by  the  hand  and  sang  a  verse  of 
Granny's  song: 

"And  if  it's  for  a  little  child  she's  cried  her  poor  eyes 
out, 

Spin,  spin  away;  and  spin,  spin  away! 
Then  she  shall  sit  in  state  with  servants  all  about, 

Falderille,  falderille,  ray,  ray,  ray!" 


CONSOLES  A  FELLOW-CREATURE    133 

"But  that's  about  Granny  herself,"  said  Ditte  in 
despair,  letting  go  his  hand — -for  she  was  annoyed 
about  it. 

"That  doesn't  matter,"  said  Granny,  joining  their 
hands  again — "just  you  take  him.  My  turn  will  come 
all  in  good  time.  And  the  song  was  made  for  both 
of  us." 

Ditte  opened  her  eyes  in  the  dark  and  felt  to  her 
great  joy  that  she  really  had  a  warm  hand  in  hers. 
Somebody  was  sitting  on  the  edge  of  her  bed  and  feel- 
ing for  her  face.  "Is  that  you,  Karl?"  she  asked — not 
a  bit  afraid  but  a  trifle  disappointed. 

"Now  they've  gone,  that  crew!"  he  said.  "They 
were  drunk  and  made  a  fearful  noise.  1  don't  under- 
stand how  you  could  sleep  with  it  going  on.  They 
wanted  to  give  me  two  crowns  for  a  tip  because  I  put 
the  horses  in;  but  I'm  not  going  to  take  their  dirty 
money.  I  told  them  they  could  give  it  back  to  those 
they'd  cheated  out  of  it.  And  they  very  nearly  hit  me 
for  that." 

"That  was  the  right  thing  to  tell  them,"  said  Ditte 
laughing.     "They  well  deserved  it." 

But  Karl  was  not  in  a  mood  to  join  in  her  laughter. 
He  sat  in  the  dark  holding  her  hand,  but  said  nothing; 
Ditte  could  feel  how  his  sad  thoughts  gnawed  and 
gnawed  within  him.  "Now  you're  not  to  think  about 
it  any  more,"  she  said — "it  doesn't  make  things  any 
better.    It's  only  stupid  to  be  sorry  all  the  time." 

^'She  wasn't  out  there  when  they  went,"  he  said  ab- 
sently, apparently  not  having  heard  what  she  had  been 
saying.    "Perhaps  she  simply  couldn't  come  out." 


134        DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

"Why,  what  do  you  mean?"  asked  Ditte,  suddenly 
becoming  anxious. 

"Oh — she  keeps  pace  with  them  when  they're  drink- 
ing, you  see.  It's  likely  enough  she — "  His  head 
sank  on  her  breast  and  he  shook  with  heavy  sobs. 

Ditte  threw  her  arms  round  his  neck,  stroked  his 
hair  and  said  comforting  things  to  him,  as  if  he  were  a 
little  child.  "There,  there,  be  a  man  now,"  she  said. 
And  when  her  consolation  failed,  she  made  room  for 
him  by  her  side  and  took  his  head  on  her  breast. 
"Now  you're  going  to  be  sensible  like  a  man,"  she  said. 
"Why  need  you  worry  about  anything?  you  can  go 
away  and  leave  it  all  behind."  Her  child's  heart  beat 
against  his  cheek,  laden  with  sympathy. 

By  degrees  she  calmed  him  down;  they  lay  talking 
together  in  undertones,  quite  happily — and  suddenly 
began  to  laugh  when  they  found  they  had  their  heads 
under  the  bedclothes  and  were  whispering.  That  took 
away  the  last  of  Karl's  melancholy;  he  began  to  tickle 
her  and  got  quite  lively.  "You  mustn't  do  that  or  I 
shall  scream,"  she  said  seriously,  trying  to  find  his 
mouth. 

Her  kiss  quieted  him;  and  all  at  once  he  seized  her 
in  his  arms  and  drew  her  violently  to  him.  Ditte  de- 
fended herself,  but  had  to  yield  to  the  strength  of  his 
embrace;  she  felt  so  weak  all  over. 

"Now  you're  hurting  me,"  she  said,  and  began 
to  cry. 


CHAPTER  XII 
SUMMER  IS  BRIEF 

DITTE  sat  under  the  high  bank  at  the  edge  of 
the  field,  and  tried  to  shield  herself  from  the 
Scotch  mist.  The  cattle  grazed  down  below. 
They  were  for  the  most  part  hidden  by  the  thick  fleecy 
mist,  but  she  could  hear  them  munching  through  the 
fog:  they  did  not  care  to  go  far  away  from  her  in 
such  weather. 

The  animals'  coats  were  dripping,  and  the  bramble 
bushes  over  her  head  were  pearly  gray  with  dewdrops. 
If  she  moved  ever  so  little,  they  rained  down  on  her. 
But  she  had  no  desire  to  move,  only  sat  quite  still, 
wishing  herself  quieter  yet  under  the  ground.  Big 
drops  hung  on  her  eyelashes,  as  big  as  those  swinging 
from  the  tip  of  every  low-hanging  leaf.  Now  and 
again  one  fell  on  her  cheek,  sometimes  from  a  leaf, 
sometimes  from  her  own  lashes;  it  was  not  easy  to  tell 
which  was  which,  and  she  did  not  even  try.  Only  when 
one  fell  right  into  her  mouth,  then  she  knew  well 
enough  where  it  came  from.  She  sat  crouched  up  on 
the  edge  of  the  bank,  cross-legged  and  with  her  bare, 
wet  feet  peeping  out  from  under  her  skirt;  blades  of 
grass  stuck  out  between  her  toes,  and  the  soles  were 
swollen  and  blistered  with  the  wet.  One  hand  she  held 
over  her  mouth,  and  bit  her  knuckles,  and  she  sat  staring 

135 


136         DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

straight  in  front  of  her  without  even  blinking.  She 
seemed  as  if  turned  to  stone. 

She  felt  a  vibration,  and  heard  steps  down  below  in 
the  field — Karl's !  A  little  life  awoke  in  her,  and  she 
looked  around.  To  her  tearful  glance  everything 
seemed  broken,  as  if  the  whole  world  had  smashed  into 
a  thousand  pieces.  She  raised  her  face  and  looked  up 
€Xf>ectantly.  "Now  he  will  take  me  in  his  arms,  and 
kiss  me !"  thought  she,  but  did  not  change  her  position. 

But  Karl  flung  himself  down  beside  her.  They  sat 
awhile,  each  looking  out  into  the  mist,  then  his  hand 
sought  hers  among  the  grass.  "Are  you  angry  with 
-»ne?"  he  asked. 

She  shook  her  head.  "You  could  not  help  being  so 
unhappy,"  said  she.  She  looked  away  from  him  and 
her  lip  quivered. 

Karl  bent  forward  to  try  to  meet  her  glance,  but  had 
to  give  it  up.  "I  have  prayed  all  night  to  the  Lord  to 
forgive  my  sin,  and  I  believe  He  has  done  so,"  said 
■he  spiritlessly. 

"Ah!"  Ditte  heard  him  speak,  but  the  words  did 
not  reach  her  inner  consciousness.  It  was  a  matter  of 
such  perfect  indifference  to  her  what  he  arranged  with 
the  Lord. 

"But  if  you  like  I  will  stand  forth  and  confess  the 
whole  to  the  Brethren,"  said  he. 

She  turned  hastily  towards  him;  life  and  hope  had 
come  into  her  expression  again.  "Do  you  think  the 
schoolmaster  is  coming  here  again?"  She  too  could 
confide  in  him. 

"No,  I  meant  the  Brethren,"  he  answered. 


SUMMER  IS  BRIEF  137 

Well,  as  to  that,  he  could  do  as  he  liked.  It  did  not 
concern  her  at  all. 

Shortly  after  he  got  up  and  went,  and  Ditte  sat  for- 
lornly alone.  He  had  not  kissed  her,  and  yet  they  be- 
longed to  each  other,  unhappily  united  in  the  common 
bonds  of  what  is  called  sin.  She  had  already  begun  to 
find  qualities  in  him  that  she  could  not  look  up  to,  and 
she  needed  to  find  something  to  admire  in  him  to  excuse 
herself,  needed  to  love  him  to  account  for  what  had 
happened  between  them.  He  was  no  longer  exclusively 
the  child  needing  her  comfort.  He  had  taken  posses- 
sion of  her,  so  that  she  felt  she  could  never  get  away 
from  him.  And  yet  he  went  away,  as  if  nothing  but 
disagreeable  annoying  things  lay  between  them.  Ditte 
stared  uncomprehendingly  after  him. 

The  day  became  darker  yet.  She  could  go  and  have 
ever  such  a  free,  careless  time,  busy  herself  with  dif- 
ferent occupations,  and  sit  and  chatter  with  the  day 
laborer's  children;  but  all  the  time  that  would  be  there 
at  the  back  of  her  mind,  like  a  creature  that  had  put  the 
Evil  Eye  on  one.  If  she  as  much  as  smiled  it  could 
reach  out  a  black  hand  whenever  it  felt  like  it,  and  blot 
the  smile  out.  And  sometimes  it  overwhelmed  her  al- 
together. So  there  was  no  savor  in  life,  all  was  black 
and  gloomy,  and  she  had  only  one  wish, — that  she  could 
thrust  away  all  that  had  happened  and  be  as  she  had 
been  before;  throw  herself  at  some  one's  feet  and 
grovel  there  to  beg  forgiveness  for  her  sin.  It  would 
be  a  long  time  before  she  could  win  back  her  peace  of 
mind  enough  to  creep  back  into  her  careless  girlish 
world  of  dreams  again. 


138         DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

Ah,  but  it  was  difficult  to  stop  up  the  gap  in  the  fence 
once  broken  down !  Ditte  knew  that  from  experience 
out  in  the  pastures,  and  could  see  that  it  was  the  same 
here.  She  had  taken  the  care  of  another  upon  her 
shoulders,  and  in  that  there  was  nothing  out  of  the  way, 
for  as  long  as  she  could  remember  demands  had  been 
made  upon  her  mother  instinct  and  fostering  care.  She 
had  had  to  devote  all  her  strength  to  smoothing  the 
way  for  others,  till  helping  them  became  a  fixed  habit. 

Now,  however,  she  would  gladly  have  had  a  little 
free  time.  It  was  summer,  and  the  sunshine  had 
warmed  Ditte's  blood,  and  had  hunted  out  all  cares  and 
worries,  and  kindled  a  secret  desire  for  life  and  enjoy- 
ment. Every  Saturday  evening  there  was  dancing, 
sometimes  at  Sea  Hill  and  sometimes  at  some  other 
farm,  and  Ditte  was  always  there.  It  v/as  the  first 
time  she  had  been  to  real  dances,  and  enjoyed  them 
thoroughly — just  as  happy  to  dance  with  one  of  her  girl 
friends  as  with  a  fellow.  The  dance  itself  was  her  de- 
light and  she  would  shut  her  eyes  and  let  herself  be 
borne  away  into  the  whirling  throng. 

But  it  was  not  easy  to  avoid  Karl :  he  used  to  lie  con- 
cealed somewhere  outside  the  farm,  and  watch  for  her, 
begging  and  praying  her  so  earnestly  not  to  go.  Ditte 
did  not  care  a  pin  what  he  said  about  sin  and  that  kind 
of  thing;  but  still  it  was  hard  to  resist  him  now,  so  she 
would  turn  round  and  go  home  to  the  farm.  If  only 
he  would  have  taken  her  for  a  walk.  They  might  have 
gone  along  the  beach  to  the  fishing  hamlet,  a  road 
where  one  never  met  any  one.  But  he  never  thought  of 
such  a  thing. 


SUMMER  IS  BRIEF  139 

She  would  humbug  him  by  pretending  to  go  to  bed, 
and  steal  out  the  other  way.  And  when  a  dance  hap- 
pened to  fall  on  one  of  the  days  he  went  to  meeting 
she  was  delighted. 

Karl  was  really  troublesome,  the  most  trouble- 
some person  she  had  yet  had  to  do  with.  He  had 
nothing  better  to  do  than  hang  about  and  keep 
a  jealous  eye  on  her,  and  always  wanted  to  know 
where  she  was  so  as  to  be  able  to  come  to  her 
with  his  troubles.  He  was  just  a  spoilt  child  who 
would  not  be  dictated  to.  He  was  sick  at  heart,  tired 
of  himself,  of  his  mother  and  of  the  whole  world. 
Ditte  was  the  only  one  who  could  get  him  to  smile  and 
hold  up  his  head  once  more.  She  was  proud  of  this 
little  success,  and  took  no  end  of  trouble  with  him, 
tried  to  manage  him  and  make  the  best  of  things  for 
both  herself  and  him. 

He  never  entered  her  little  room  again,  not  even  by 
day;  he  was  afraid.  But  sometimes  he  came  by  night 
and  knocked  softly  at  the  door,  and  dead  tired  as  she 
was,  she  had  to  get  up  and  dress. 

"It  hurts  me  so  here !"  he  would  say,  putting  both 
hands  to  the  back  of  his  head.  Then  they  would 
steal  through  the  hollow  lane  down  to  the  beach,  and 
sit  upon  the  big  boulders,  talking  and  listening  to  the 
monotonous  splash  of  the  waves.  He  was  not  loqua- 
cious, it  was  usually  Ditte  who  chattered  away.  He 
would  listen  intently  till  now  and  then  a  pious  fit  came 
over  him,  and  he  would  begin  to  reprove  her.  "You 
are  still  so  worldly !"  was  his  usual  reproach. 

"Then  you  can  just  let  me  alone !"  Ditte  would  re- 


I40         DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

tort  indignantly.  And  then  each  would  go  their 
own  way. 

One  Saturday  evening  there  was  the  final  dance  of 
the  season  at  an  inn  half  an  hour's  walk  inland.  The 
long  clear  nights  were  over;  it  was  the  middle  of  Au- 
gust, dark  and  windy  at  night,  and  the  summer  dances 
were  over  for  that  year. 

Ditte  got  leave  to  go  and  get  ready  as  soon  as  the 
supper  things  were  washed  up;  Sine  was  so  good 
natured  in  sparing  Ditte  all  she  could  and  taking  the 
evening  work  herself.  Ditte  put  on  her  new  homespun 
dress,  never  as  yet  worn,  tied  her  plaits  with  a  blue  rib- 
bon and  wound  them  round  her  head.  She  wanted  to 
be  smart  that  evening — and  grown-up !  Luckily  Karl 
was  at  a  meeting,  but  to  be  quite  sure  of  avoiding  him, 
she  took  a  field  path  which  led  behind  the  farm  to  the 
village.  She  was  happy  and  hummed  a  tune  as  she 
walked  along.  It  was  true  that  a  dark  shadow  still 
clouded  her  mind,  but  it  was  like  a  bad  tooth,  that  had 
stopped  aching.    It  did  not  hurt  if  only  it  was  left  alone. 

The  fun  was  at  its  height  when  she  got  there.  The 
musicians  had  not  turned  up,  so  they  were  playing 
games  with  dancing  in  them,  and  singing  their  own 
accompaniment.  There  were  both  young  and  old  from 
the  farms,  servants,  and  some  lads  from  the  workshops 
in  the  village :  the  farmers  never  came  to  these  dances, 
they  thought  themselves  above  that.  The  dancers  were 
circling  round  singing:  "See  who  is  in  the  midst  of  the 
ring!"  Ditte  sprang  quickly  into  the  ring,  and  took 
hold  of  tvv'o  hands;  she  found  that  she  was  between 
two  lads,  but  to-night  she  was  neither  timid  nor  bash- 


SUMMER  IS  BRIEF  141 

ful — now  she  was  grown  up !  She  sang  out  loud,  and 
waited  anxiously  to  see  if  any  of  the  fellows  in  the  ring 
would  come  and  choose  her:  it  was  exciting  and  her 
heart  beat  fast.  Every  one  could  judge  from  the  num- 
ber of  times  a  girl  was  chosen,  just  how  popular  she 
was.  There  were  girls  who  went  on  dancing  the  whole 
time,  who  scarcely  got  time  to  tie  up  their  shoestrings! 

It  happened  that  Ditte  was  picked  out  immediately. 
Perhaps  it  was  just  a  lucky  chance,  but  she  beamed  with 
delight  when  she  was  brought  back  again  to  the  ring. 
This  beaming  delight,  the  glow  in  her  eyes,  her  enjoy- 
ment and  sense  of  importance  gave  a  new  dignity  to 
her  bearing  as  she  danced  on  the  grass  and  made  her 
seem  beautiful.  Every  one  could  see  it.  Once  again  a 
half  grown  girl  had  cast  off  her  childish  ways,  and  en- 
tered the  ranks  of  the  maidens  to  compete  for  the  apple 
of  beauty,  to  try  and  win  it;  all  clustered  round  her 
when  the  time  came  to  take  partners  for  the  dance. 

Was  Ditte's  head  quite  turned  that  evening?  Per- 
haps there  were  not  nearly  so  many  after  her  as  she 
herself  imagined.  But  at  all  events  she  was  among  the 
young  girls  who  were  invited  into  the  inn  to  drink 
coffee  with  the  men. 

When  she  came  out  again,  it  was  quite  dark.  The 
Innkeeper  had  hung  a  lamp  from  the  gable  window 
which  lit  up  the  grass  and  they  danced  in  that  light. 
There  was  a  red-cheeked  lad  who  had  kept  near  her 
the  whole  evening,  but  had  not  danced;  now  under 
cover  of  the  darkness  he  dared  to  come  forward.  Ditte 
liked  him;  he  had  firm,  warm  hands  that  took  hold  of 
hers  without  an  afterthought,  and  his  breath  smelt  of 


142         DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

youth,  and  of  buttermilk,  like  a  child's.  But  he  was 
bashful,  and  indulged  in  foolish  antics  in  the  dance  to 
carry  off  his  embarrassment,  so  that  the  others  stopped 
dancing  to  laugh.  "Now  we  will  stop!"  said  Ditte, 
laughing  herself  at  his  performance.  He  would  not 
let  her  go,  but  went  on  twirling  her  round,  and  suddenly 
kissed  her.  Then  he  let  go  of  her  in  alarm,  and  rushed 
out  of  the  light,  into  the  dark,  amid  the  laughter  of  the 
others.  They  could  hear  him  still  running  for  a 
long  time. 

Ditte  stole  away  from  the  dance  before  it  was  fin- 
ished, to  escape  being  taken  home  by  one  of  her  part- 
ners. She  knew  that  the  fellow  who  took  a  girl  home 
expected  something  from  her  in  return,  and  she  wanted 
to  be  free  and  her  own  mistress.  When  she  had  gone 
a  short  way  the  red-cheeked  lad  sprang  up,  as  if  he  had 
shot  up  from  the  ditch  where  he  was  lying,  and  came 
to  meet  her. 

"May  1  take  you  home  to-night?"  he  asked,  a  little 
uncertainly.  "Yes,  that  you  may,"  answered  Ditte; 
she  was  not  afraid  of  him.  They  walked  along  si- 
lently— it  was  his  place  to  amuse  her,  but  he  only 
walked  along  with  his  head  turned  away.  Ditte  liked 
him  well  enough  and  would  willingly  have  taken  his 
hand. 

"May  I — may  I  go  home  with  you  another  evening 
too?"  he  asked  at  last. 

"I  can't  say  now,  but  it's  possible!"  replied  Ditte 
gravely. 

"May  I — may  I  tell  any  one  else?" 

No,  Ditte  did  not  like  the  idea  of  that.     "They 


SUMMER  IS  BRIEF  143 

would  only  talk  nonsense  and  say  we  are  sweethearts,'* 
she  answered. 

"Will — will  you  give  me  a  kiss  then?"  He  stopped 
and  gazed  intently  at  the  ground. 

Ditte  kissed  him  quietly  and  thoughtfully.  Then 
they  continued  their  way,  holding  each  other's  hands 
now,  but  not  speaking  a  word.  At  the  farm  Ditte 
stopped.      "Good-night !"  she  said. 

"Good-night,  then !"  he  answered.  They  stood  for 
a  moment  holding  hands  and  then  their  lips  met — they 
kissed  like  two  loving  children.  But  the  kiss  lasted 
too  long  and  became  too  serious  for  them  both,  so 
they  suddenly  left  off  and  began  blowing  each  in  the 
other's  face,  and  laughing.  Mogens  turned  round  and 
began  to  run.  She  could  hear  his  quick  trot  for  a 
long  time,  and  soon  he  broke  out  singing.  Yes,  Ditte 
liked  him  well. 

Karl  was  sitting  on  the  chopping  block  outside  her 
door  waiting.  Ditte  pretended  not  to  hear  or  see 
him,  and  made  straight  for  her  door;  she  wanted  to 
be  free  of  his  jeremiads  for  once.  He  came  after 
her.  "You  have  been  to  a  dance,"  he  said 
accusingly. 

Ditte  did  not  answer;  It  had  nothing  to  do  with  him 
where  she  had  been.  She  stood  with  her  hand  on  the 
door-latch. 

"I  have  been  to  a  dance  too.  I  have  looked  into 
heaven,  and  seen  God's  little  winged  angels  before 
the  Lamb  at  the  foot  of  the  throne.  Will  you  come 
down  to  the  beach  with  me,  and  I  will  tell  you  about 
it." 


144        DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN" 

No,  Ditte  was  tired  and  wanted  to  go  to  bed;  It 
was  too  late. 

"Will  you  answer  me  one  thing?"  he  asked  in  deadly 
earnest.     "Is  it  I  who  has  led  you  into  sin?" 

"I  am  not  in  sin,"  said  Ditte,  stamping  her  foot  and 
ready  to  cry.  "Will  you  just  let  me  alone,  or  I  will 
call  your  mother  and  tell  her  everything."  He  stood 
staring  uncomprehendingly  for  a  moment,  then  turned 
on  his  heel  and  went  down  to  the  beach. 

Ditte  lay  awake  with  a  conscience  that  pricked  her. 
But  it  was  really  no  good,  she  would  have  to  see  about 
getting  rid  of  him.  It  was  too  stupid  If  she  could 
not  even  dance  on  account  of  Karl.  Then  she  began 
to  think  of  Mogens,  his  happy  trot  sounded  still  in 
her  ears.  It  reminded  her  of  Kristian,  who  could  never 
walk  quietly  either,  but  always  galloped  along. 


CHAPTER  XIII 
THE  HEART 

IT  was  said  of  the  son  and  heir  at  Hill  Farm  that 
he  was  born  with  wrinkles  in  his  forehead.  "He 
has  inherited  a  heavy  burden;  it's  wonderful  he's 
as  good  as  he  is!"  they  said.  He  was,  in  fact,  a  liv- 
ing witness  to  the  curse.  But  the  brothers  out  in  the 
world  had  nothing  the  matter  with  them:  they  were 
quite  all  right.  And  the  people  who  worked  on  the 
farm  and  stayed  there  any  length  of  time  came  in  for 
a  share  of  the  curse  in  one  way  or  another.  That 
was  one  of  the  curious  ways  of  the  inherited  family 
curse — it  skipped  over  the  family  and  fell  upon 
strangers.  Sine  was  certainly  a  bit  cracked  too,  red- 
cheeked  and  fresh  and  frightened  of  all  men-folk  as 
she  was.  Was  it  natural  for  a  girl  as  pretty  as  she 
was  to  show  her  claws  directly  a  man  appeared  on  the 
scene  and  to  take  delight  in  nothing  but  her  savings 
bank  book?  Every  one  knew  what  a  dissolute  beast 
Rasmus  Rytter  had  become  through  being  at  the  farm 
all  his  days,  and  now  the  little  lass  had  caught  the  evil 
spirit  too — in  her  own  way!  She  had  come  running 
half  crazy  to  the  village  one  night,  and  hammered  on 
a  door  like  a  wild  hunted  creature,  and  when  cross- 
questioned  as  to  what  ailed  her,  could  give  no  explana- 
tion.    It  was  incomprehensible ! 

As  to  the  Hill  Farm,  the  trouble  was  that  the  same 

145 


146        DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

race  had  lived  in  it  too  long,  generation  after  genera- 
tion. It  was  never  properly  cleared  up  and  done  up 
anew.  New  blood  there  was  in  as  far  as  they  married 
strangers  and  brought  them  home  to  the  farm,  and 
now  and  again  another  person  was  smuggled  into  the 
nest — the  Hill  Farm  folk  were  never  so  very  particu- 
lar regarding  the  sanctity  of  the  marriage  bond.  But 
it  was  never  cleared  up  any  the  more  for  that;  the 
farm  lay  just  as  it  had  always  done,  with  all  its  old 
traditions,  these  and  the  old  stories,  the  old  customs, 
and  the  old  habits  Vv^ere  handed  down  from  generation 
to  generation  both  in  dealing  and  in  living  by  word 
of  mouth,  diluted  occasionally  by  the  new  incomers. 
The  walls  were  steeped  in  it,  and  the  bedding  that 
had  been  also  handed  down  from  immemorial  times 
was  heavy  and  noisome  with  it.  A  fire  would  have 
worked  wonders  there,  and  one  or  two  had  tried  to 
give  Providence  a  helping  hand  to  get  it  cleaned  up  in 
that  way  in  the  course  of  centuries,  but  it  was  always 
in  vain,  the  Hill  Farm  simply  could  not  burn!  The 
same  atmosphere,  the  same  smell,  the  same  sickly  close- 
ness continued  to  steep  and  infect  all  the  air  round 
the  farm,  growing  steadily  worse  as  the  decay  went 
on.  Sickness  and  penury  and  shifty  and  crooked  deal- 
ings were  good  enough  for  them  and  carried  on  the 
tradition  of  the  family. 

Karen  had  silver  beakers  dated  1756,  and  the  tu- 
berculosis germs  in  the  old  feather  beds  were  enough  in 
themselves  to  turn  the  atmosphere  In  the  farm  house 
to  that  of  a  century-old  midden.  Folk  went  about  their 
daily  work  amid  the  refuse  of  foregoing  generations, 


THE  HEART  147 

drew  from  it  both  their  sustenance  and  their  death. 
Life  vegetated  upon  a  churchyard,  where  sweat,  and 
hard  labor  and  crime  formed  the  soil. 

Ditte  noticed  the  stupefying  atmosphere.  Her 
home  had  happily  been  free  of  all  that  oppressiveness 
of  old  things,  they  had  their  future  ahead  of  them. 
In  spite  of  all  adversities  it  gave  existence  a  certain, 
freshness  to  feel  that  it  was  the  future  that  lay  before 
them,  that  they  breathed  in  what  one  might  call  the 
new  time,  where  there  had  been  no  life  as  yet.  The 
rag  and  bone  man's  people  had  no  inheritance  to  ex- 
pect from  either  side,  so  they  quickly  set  their  fore- 
bears to  one  side.  And  It  became  a  good  habit  among 
them  in  various  ways  to  put  a  stroke  through  what 
had  happened  and  only  concern  themselves  with  the 
future.  Lars  Peter  always  thought  that  it  was  stupid 
to  keep  up  old  prejudices  and  old  sicknesses,  and  said 
as  much  when  any  one  began  to  revive  the  past.  They 
had  to  do  as  the  gipsies  did  when  they  made  a  roast 
hare  out  of  a  stolen  cat, — they  first  thrashed  all  the 
cat-poison  out  of  the  cat  into  its  tail,  and  then  cut  it 
off. 

Ditte  had  a  stout  little  heart  where  everyday  adversi- 
ties were  concerned.  These  she  could  contend  with 
and  get  the  best  of.  But  here  the  darkness  was  the 
worst,  everything  had  deep  fixed  roots  and  was  haunted 
by  the  spirit  of  the  past.  She  could  understand  Karl's 
distress  at  his  mother's  goings-on;  that  was  some- 
thing one  could  discuss,  and  it  was  possible  to  drive 
away  this  grief  when  one  was  lucky.  But  the  con- 
tinual gloom  that  hung  over  his  mind, — his  misery 


148         DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

over  nothing  at  all,  she  could  not  grasp.  And  trying 
to  bring  comfort  here  was  like  making  a  hole  in  the 
sand  to  hold  water, — it  filled  up  just  as  quickly  again 
from  the  bottom.  It  was  a  quite  impossible  task  to 
keep  up  his  spirits. 

But  she  could  not  let  him  go  either.  She  could  not 
prevent  herself  from  thinking  of  him  and  worrying 
over  his  conduct;  that  was  her  nature.  Poor  folks 
were  like  little  birds :  existence  for  them  readily  shaped 
Itself  to  that  of  the  cuckoo  young  In  the  sparrow's 
nest,  whose  whole  daily  business  was  to  gape  and  gape 
and  stuff  Its  Insatiable  beak.  Whether  Ditte  would  or 
no,  she  had  to  bear  the  whole  burden  of  a  world  she 
had  no  part  nor  lot  In,  there  was  no  way  out  of  It.  If 
only  he  had  been  a  little  child !  Then  she  could  have 
taken  him  In  her  arms,  played  with  him  and  talked, 
nicely  to  him  till  he  smiled  and  forgot  It  all. 

So  Ditte  fought  the  fight  for  him  whether  she  would 
or  no,  and  fought  It  so  long  that  the  Darkness  closed 
over  her  again.  There  was  no  love  to  bridge  the  gulf, 
no  caresses  to  form  a  bond  between  them :  he  only 
sought  her  to  find  shelter  against  the  darkness  when 
he  was  gloomy  and  despairing  himself.  And  she  could 
think  of  no  better  way  than  to  take  him  to  her  arms 
again  and  comfort  him  as  best  she  could.  This  was 
not  the  time  to  think  of  herself  and  go  on  her  guard 
when  another  human  being  was  unhappy.  It  was  late 
in  the  autumn  when  this  happened  again,  and  the  same 
night  she  rushed  out  to  the  village  and  hammered  on 
a  door. 

It  was  a  terrible  dilemma :  they  were  not  even  sweet- 


THE  HEART  149 

hearts  in  secret!  She  had  only  sacrificed  herself — 
offered  more  than  she  possessed,  and  despoiled  her 
breast  of  the  feathery  down  to  keep  him  warm.  All 
day  long  she  went  about  in  a  maze,  her  heart  full  of 
sorrow  and  wonder — remorse  gnawed  at  her  child's 
mind.  When  she  spoke  seriously  to  Karl  about  it,  the 
same  regret  smote  him  also,  and  he  began  to  weep  and 
accuse  himself,  and  behave  like  a  madman.  Then  she 
had  to  try  and  calm  him  again.  There  was  no  way 
out  of  it! 

It  became  impossible  to  bear  alone,  and  she  wished 
with  all  her  heart  that  she  had  some  one  to  confide 
in.  She  could  not  dream  of  Sorine  as  a  confident:  and 
Lars  Peter  had  enough  to  trouble  him — besides  he  was 
a  man !  Then  there  w^as  the  mistress.  There  were 
times  when  Ditte  thought  she  would  die  if  she  could 
not  tell  some  grown-up  person  about  it;  she  could  not 
bear  the  burden  alone ! 

When  she  related  this  feeling  to  Karl  in  her  serious, 
almost  old-fashioned  way,  he  became  quite  beside  him- 
self and  behaved  like  a  lunatic;  his  eyes  started  out  of 
his  head  with  fright. 

"You  ought  not  to  be  so  much  afraid  of  your 
mother,"  said  Ditte,  "it  is  her  fault!  But  we  will  go 
to  her  and  tell  her  that  she  must  be  different,  or  she 
will  make  us  unhappy." 

"Then  1  will  go  to  the  threshing  floor  and  hang  my- 
self!" said  he,  threateningly. 

For  many  days  he  kept  away  from  her,  neither  did 
he  speak  when  they  met  at  their  work,  but  went  about 
with  lips  pressed  firmly  together  as  if  he  had  sworn 


ISO        DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

a  holy  oath.  But  his  glance  met  hers,  beggin  and 
imploring,  and  Ditte  understood  and  was  silent.  She 
was  sorry  for  him,  he  had  no  one  to  go  to  in  his  need. 

So  the  autumn  passed  and  the  greater  part  of  the 
winter  too,  a  hard  and  difficult  time  for  her.  There 
were  not  many  bright  spots;  just  the  visitors  at  the 
house,  and  also  the  fact  that  Karen  of  the  Hill  Farm, 
contrary  to  every  one's  expectations,  had  decided  to 
marry  Johannes.  Karl  took  this  desperately  to  heart, 
but  Ditte  was  as  pleased  as  a  child.  "You  ought  to 
be  glad  too,"  she  said  to  Karl  to  justify  her  delight, 
"when  they  are  sweethearting  all  the  time !"  Ditte 
had  never  been  to  a  wedding  before  and  the  date  was 
fixed  for  June. 

Ditte  was  nearing  her  seventeenth  birthday.  These 
seventeen  summers  had  shown  her  the  tough  side  of 
existence.  She  had  worked  and  slaved  ever  since  she 
was  little,  first  for  her  small  sister  and  brothers, 
brought  them  up,  and  taken  a  mother's  place  towards 
them.  When  she  left  home,  she  had  borne  the  burden 
of  a  grown-up  person.  That  was  over, — she  could 
straighten  her  back  now. 

And  she  had  scarcely  let  the  little  ones  down  from 
her  lap,  when  she  had  to  begin  again  on  her  own  ac- 
count. A  new  burden,  heavier  than  anything  she  had 
borne  before,  began  to  stir  under  her  little  ill-used 
heart. 

Other  folks  noticed  it  before  she  did  herself,  and 
looked  at  her  with  curious  eyes;  but  she  went  about 
like  a  bewildered  child  and  comprehended  nothing  of 
it.     Sine  said  nothing,   but  gazed   sadly  at  her   and 


THE  HEART  151 

sighed:  she  spared  her  as  much  as  possible  in  the  work, 
and  Ditte  giaessed  why.  Many  things  only  corrobo- 
rated the  same  terrible  fact — a  human  being  had 
brought  her  nothing  but  pain  to  comfort  himself  and 
now  she  was  to  have  a  child  as  a  punishment  into  the 
bargain. 

One  day  when  she  went  into  the  brewery  she  was 
overcome  by  violent  sickness.  Sine  had  to  hold  her 
forehead,  her  frail  body  seemed  about  to  break  In  two. 
"Ah,  poor  little  thing!"  said  Sine.  "You  had  bet- 
ter not  have  danced  so  much  last  summer.  I  thought 
something  like  this  would  happen,  you  were  so  mad  set 
on  going!" 

"It  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  dancing!"  said  Ditte 
sobbing.  Cold  sweat  stood  on  her  forehead  and  upper 
lip. 

"Well,  well,  that  has  nothing  to  do  with  me!  But 
go  and  get  on  with  your  work  now,  so  that  the  mis- 
tress doesn't  find  out  anything  about  it." 

Ah,  dancing,  dancing!  If  only  she  could  have 
danced  herself  Into  having  a  child !  She  had  heard  a 
story  of  a  girl  who  had  danced  herself  into  having 
one,  and  the  expression  had  lingered  in  her  memory 
like  a  beautiful  verse.  No,  she  had  never  been  afraid 
to  dance  because  of  that!  If  she  had  to  have  children, 
and  Granny  had  prophesied  that  she  would  get  them 
easily,  she  would  prefer  to  dance  to  get  them. 

She  was  a  prey  to  despair  and  confusion  :  she  thought 
that  everybody  stared  at  her  and  behaved  strangely, 
almost  rudely  to  her.  Karl  held  himself  aloof:  how- 
ever much  she  tried  it  was  never  possible  to  get  a  word 


152         DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

alone  with  him.  A  kind  word  would  have  been  wel- 
come indeed  now,  but  nobody  had  one  to  spare  for 
her.  And  when  they  got  to  know  it  at  home !  And 
her  father! 

One  day  Sine  came  running  over  to  her  in  the  stable. 
"You  are  to  go  in  to  the  mistress !"  said  she,  and  stared 
at  her  with  eyes  bulging  with  fear.  Ditte  was  not 
frightened  herself,  she  felt  that  now  she  would  soon 
be  free. 

Karen  of  the  Hill  Farm  sat  in  the  best  parlor,  at 
the  table  and  looked  as  if  she  was  about  to  hold  a  court 
of  justice:  she  had  bound  a  black  handkerchief  round 
her  head  and  held  a  book  in  her  hand.  Behind  her 
chair  stood  Karl;  he  looked  imploringly  at  Ditte. 

But  she  openly  confessed  the  truth,  so  that  was  soon 
over.  The  mistress  had  always  had  the  name  for  be- 
ing just  in  spite  of  all  her  faults,  and  for  doing  the 
right  thing  by  one  when  things  were  serious.  She 
would  surely  appreciate  the  fact  that  Ditte  had  been 
good  to  Karl,  and  help  her  over  it. 

But  Karen's  sense  of  justice  did  not  reach  as  far  as 
that.  Perhaps  it  was  because  she  felt  guilty  towards 
her  son  and  v/anted  to  have  him  put  in  the  wrong  too. 
She  took  his  part,  never  reproached  him  once,  but 
vented  all  the  vials  of  her  v,'rath  against  Ditte, 

"This  is  what  people  get  for  being  good  to  you  and 
giving  you  food  and  clothes,"  she  began.  "Shame  for 
thanks,  and  misfortune  into  the  bargain.  Justice  de- 
mands that  you  must  be  reported  to  the  authorities 
and  not  merely  sent  away.  See  here,  you  can  read  the 
paragraph  for  yourself !" 


THE  HEART  153 

Karen  held  the  law  concerning  servants  towards  her 
and  spoke  in  formal  judicial  language.  "Thou  has 
corrupted  one  of  the  children  of  the  house  and  led  him 
into  evil  deeds, — Paragraph  six.  Thou  hast  been 
guilty  of  an  illicit  connection  with  one  of  the  house- 
hold,— Paragraph  twelve.  And  although  an  unmar- 
ried servant  maid,  thou  hast  become  with  child, — Para- 
graph thirteen.  Thou  hast  forfeited  thy  right  three 
times,  and  given  me  the  right  to  deal  with  thee  as  I 
will.  Get  out  of  this  house, — and  at  once."  Ditte 
stood  listening  to  the  whole  with  a  lifeless  expression; 
she  did  not  even  cry.  Her  mistress  sat  there  with  the 
law  in  her  hand  and  judged  her  according  to  the  printed 
word — and  yet  twisted  and  juggled  with  the  truth.  The 
whole  thing  was  so  absurd,  but  she  remembered  Lars 
Peter's  strange  saying  that  those  who  served  had  no 
rights.  When  her  mistress  bade  her  pack  up  and  go, 
she  turned  a  pair  of  wondering,  innocent  childish  eyes 
upon  Karl.  Would  he  say  nothing  at  all?  But  he 
kept  near  his  mother,  and  looked  at  her  as  if  she  was 
an  abandoned  criminal.  So  she  staggered  out  to  her 
room  and  packed  her  things. 

Perhaps  Karen  of  the  Hill  Farm  was  not  altogether 
certain  as  to  her  son's  attitude  towards  Ditte  and  would 
gladly  get  her  out  of  the  farm  as  quickly  as  possible. 
At  any  rate  she  followed  her  and  made  her  hurry  off. 
When  Ditte  had  got  her  pack  under  her  arm  and  was 
about  to  go,  Karen  suddenly  snatched  the  down  quilt 
up  from  the  bed.  "Is  it  there  that  you  committed  the 
sin?"  asked  she  with  a  leer. 

Ditte  rushed  blindly  out.     She  knew  not  what  she 


154        DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

did,  her  life  seemed  quenched  within  her  and  all  around 
seemed  bitterly  cold  and  empty.  There  was  only  one 
idea  in  her  mind — she  would  not  go  home — not  for  all 
the  world. 

It  was  early  spring,  the  damp  still  lingered  in  the 
earth,  and  the  fields  were  fearfully  wet.  But  she  plod- 
ded on,  pushed  her  way  through,  sometimes  stuck  fast, 
and  again  pulled  herself  free.  At  last  she  got  down 
to  the  water.  There  was  now  water  all  round  the  small 
"islands"  where  the  nests  had  been,  she  had  to  wade 
out  to  them.  Her  nose  ran  and  her  shoes  were  sop- 
ping; she  wept,  but  with  a  little  whimpering  cry,  for 
her  eyes  were  quite  dry.  The  nests  were  empty  and 
cold,  and  the  bushes  bare  of  leaves,  and  all  about  lay 
small  relics  of  her  playtime,  which  had  been  forgotten 
here.  She  waded  back  and  sat  at  the  edge  of  the 
marsh,  where  she  had  so  often  sat  and  sewed,  her  legs 
swinging  over  the  bank  just  as  she  used  to  sit. 

There  she  sat  and  looked  down  into  the  brown 
water,  where  the  pike  gave  chase  to  water  beetles,  and 
thought  of  all  the  sad  stories  she  had  heard  of  des- 
perate girls  who  had  taken  their  own  lives;  thought  too 
how  cold  it  must  be  down  there  and  shuddered.  These 
stories  had  lain  in  her  memory  like  some  sad  ditty, 
fantastic  and  remote,  and  yet  so  tragic.  There  were 
verses  about  such  cases  and  she  herself  had  sung  them 
and  wept  in  sympathy.  But  now  she  realized  it  bet- 
ter. They  were  found  afterwards,  poor  creatures,  and 
buried  with  the  baby  lying  under  their  breasts.  And 
when  the  dew  time  came !  She  could  not  help  think- 
ing about  the  innkeeper's  wife,  and  most  of  all  of  the 


THE  HEART  155 

poor  little  unborn  child  that  had  had  to  undergo  all 
that,  a  miserable,  shivering  little  creature  without  band 
or  swaddling  clothes,  and  her  heart  bled  for  it.  She 
drew  back  from  the  water  and  wandered  aimlessly 
about. 

A  voice  called  to  her  from  the  field  above — she  lifted 
her  head — it  was  Karl.  He  came  quickly  towards  her, 
v/aving  as  he  ran.  For  one  moment  she  stood  there 
without  noticing  him,  then  turned  and  fled. 

"I  must  speak  to  you !"  he  shouted  imploringly — "I 
must  speak  to  you !"  She  heard  his  steps  coming  be- 
hind her,  and  ran  with  her  wet  skirts  flapping  at  her 
heels,  shrieking  wildly.  She  ran  along  the  whole  shore, 
past  Rasmus  Rytter's  hut,  where  the  youngsters  stood 
gaping  after  her,  and  ran  on  till  she  darted  into  the 
highway  that  led  to  the  fishing  village.  There  she 
hid  among  some  rocks. 

She  did  not  venture  into  the  village  till  darkness 
fell.  She  crept  along  behind  the  houses  down  to  the 
harbor  in  order  not  to  meet  any  one,  feeling  sure  that 
whoever  saw  her  would  know  what  had  happened. 
Lars  Peter  was  in  the  boat  v/ith  some  of  his  mates, 
working;  one  of  them  was  telling  a  funny  story  and 
she  heard  him  laugh.  The  laugh  rang  deep  and  warm, 
and  Ditte  felt  like  screaming  out  when  she  heard  it. 

She  hid  behind  a  turned-up  boat,  wet  and  miserable, 
and  waited  till  he  was  ready.  I  seemed  centuries  long; 
they  had  finished,  but  stood  up  on  the  pier  talking. 
Ditte  sat  whimpering  softly  in  the  cold,  it  seemed  to 
her  impossible  that  any  one  could  go  on  talking  so 
heartlessly. 


156        DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

At  last  he  said  good-night  and  left  them.  Ditte 
raised  herself.     "Father!"  she  whispered. 

"What  the  devil!  Is  it  you?"  exclaimed  Lars  Peter 
softly.     "How  did  you  get  here?" 

She  said  nothing,  but  stood  there  swaying  to  and  fro 
in  the  darlc. 

"Are  you  ill,  child?"  he  said,  and  caught  hold  of 
her.  He  felt  how  wet  and  cold  she  was  and  looked 
her  closely  in  the  face.  "Has  anything  troubled  you?" 
he  asked.  She  turned  her  head  away,  and  at  this 
movement  the  truth  dawned  on  him.  "Come,  let  us 
go  home,"  he  said,  and  gently  took  her  by  the  arm, 
"let  us  go  home  to  Mother."  His  voice  broke.  It 
was  the  first  time  Ditte  had  heard  her  strong  father 
break  down,  and  it  cut  her  to  the  heart.  Then  she 
understood  all  the  gravity  and  hopelessness  of  th^ 
position. 


CHAPTER  XIV 
THE  END  OF  BIG  KLAUS 

THE  innkeeper  had  sold  the  green  1 
If  the  inhabitants  of  the  village  had  been 
told  that  he  had  sold  the  sea  itself,  they  could 
not  have  been  more  taken  aback.  Here  the  fishermen 
had  dried  their  nets  as  long  as  the  hamlet  had  been 
in  existence :  here  generation  after  generation  through 
hundreds  of  years  had  hung  up  their  means  of  liveli- 
hood to  dry,  shaken  off  the  seaweed  and  mended  the 
rifts  the  waves  had  torn.  From  pillar  to  pillar 
stretched  long  mounds  made  of  all  the  dirt  that  had 
accumulated  when  the  nets  were  shaken,  and  between 
these  mounds  were  worn  deep  foot-tracks.  The  green 
was  the  common  property  of  them  all, — belonging  to 
no  one  of  them  in  particular.  It  lay  as  it  had  always 
lain,  and  like  the  beach  itself  served  to  remind  them 
of  those  times  when  the  earth  belonged  to  all  men  alike. 
There  the  youngsters  had  played  and  the  women  gath- 
ered for  their  evening  gossip — the  green  was  the  hub 
and  center  of  their  daily  life.  No  one  had  dared  to 
rig  up  tackle,  build  a  boat  there,  or  in  any  other  way 
claim  a  share  of  it  for  their  narrow  personal  affairs. 

And  now  the  innkeeper  had  beerk  impudent  enough 
to  sell  it.  It  was  rumored  that  he  had  got  several 
thousand  kroner  for  a  thing  that  had  never  been  his  1 

For  the  first  time  the  fishermen  woke  up  from  their 

157 


158         DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

lethargy  and  began  to  rebel;  this  was  the  last  straw. 
They  took  counsel  together  and  decided  to  send  a 
couple  of  men  to  the  country  town  to  consult  a  lawyer. 
But  results  proved  that  the  innkeeper  had  done  the 
thing  so  cleverly  that  they  could  not  have  him  any- 
where. He  had  legal  papers  not  only  about  the  green, 
but  also  about  their  own  cottages  that  had  been  in- 
herited from  father  to  son.  Properly  speaking  they 
were  but  tenants,  and  it  was  due  to  his  generosity 
that  they  had  not  to  pay  rent  into  the  bargain!  He 
could  turn  them  out,  if  he  liked. 

How  had  all  this  come  to  pass?  Yes,  who  was 
clever  enough  to  be  even  with  the  innkeeper?  One  of 
them  had  been  obliged  to  give  in  at  this  point,  another 
there,  some  of  them  had  been  boozing,  others  had 
signed  away  their  right  to  get  bread  to  eat.  The 
innkeeper  ran  round  so  often  with  papers  and  asked 
for  their  signatures — "just  for  form's  sake,"  he  always 
said.  They  were  not  too  clever  at  reading,  and  be- 
sides what  was  the  good !  Whoever  had  asked  to  ex- 
amine the  ogre's  papers  would  have  had  a  thin  time 
of  it! 

However,  it  was  strange  to  find  things  so;  Ditte's 
sorrowful  homecoming  too  soon  did  not  attract  the  at- 
tention it  would  otherwise  have  merited.  The  women 
nudged  one  another  and  stared  at  the  "poor  house" 
as  they  went  by,  but  there  was  no  real  heart  in  it.  Even 
the  nickname  "poor  house"  had  lost  something  of  its 
sting,  now  that  they  all  of  them  lived  by  his  gener- 
osity I 

As  soon  as  the  spring  wet  had  disappeared  and  the 


THE  END  OF  BIG  KLAUS  159 

way  to  the  hamlet  was  practicable,  planks  and  barbed 
wire  came  in  whole  loads  from  the  town,  and  the  green 
was  fenced  in.  The  innkeeper  himself  ran  about  and 
paced  it  off  with  a  little  fat  man,  who  was  said  to  be 
a  town  merchant.  The  fishermen  had  to  turn  out  of 
the  green,  and  see  about  finding  another  place :  it  was 
strange  enough  to  be  hunted  out  of  your  own  home 
in  that  way.  And  all  along  the  shore  where  they  had 
always  walked,  there  was  a  piece  cut  off  from  them: 
they  had  to  turn  off,  up  into  the  village.  It  was  not 
easy  for  the  folk  to  get  used  to  new  paths;  many  a 
time  the  wire  was  trodden  down  and  put  up  again,  be- 
fore it  was  left  untouched. 

It  was  annoying,  but  it  had  its  exciting  side.  The 
man  who  had  bought  the  green  was  so  rich  that  he 
was  said  not  to  know  what  to  do  with  his  money.  Now 
he  was  going  to  bury  it  in  the  sand  down  here,  the 
maddest  idea !  He  meant  to  put  up  a  perfect  palace, 
and  lay  out  a  garden, — here,  in  the  middle  of  the  sand! 
It  came  out  that  the  soil  was  to  be  carted  up  from  the 
innkeeper's  fields.  There  was  not  too  much  of  it  up 
there  either. 

In  the  spring,  stones  and  timber  came  from  the  town. 
The  carters  from  there  would  not  drive  down  through 
the  loose  sand.  So  the  building  material  was.  un- 
loaded up  on  the  bank  and  Big  Klaus  had  to  draw 
it  down  through  the  hollow  lane  to  the  green.  The 
merchant  came  every  other  day,  sometimes  with  one 
man,  sometimes  with  another.  They  ran  about  with 
long  measures,  put  up  a  three-legged  telescope  and 
looked  through  it  here  and  there,  looked  at  some  black 


i6o        DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAIST 

stick*  and  drove  pegs  Into  the  ground.  They  had  big 
rolls  of  paper  in  their  hands,  which  every  moment 
they  spread  out  on  the  sea-grass  and  consulted.  It 
looked  most  mysterious:  the  youngsters  from  the  ham- 
let stood  leaning  over  the  wire  fencing  all  day  long 
in  their  shirt  sleeves,  gaping.  The  spring  air  and  the 
excitement  made  the  eyes  and  noses  of  the  bigger  ones 
run,  the  smaller  ones  had  a  worse  experience;  now  and 
then  one  of  them  began  to  howl  and  make  for  home, 
but  it  was  generally  too  late ! 

Little  Povl  was  there  too.  He  was  seven  and  was 
to  begin  school  In  a  few  days,  so  It  was  Important  to 
waste  no  time.  He  hung  about  there  the  livelong  day, 
but  was  not  content  to  stand  by  the  fence  and  stare; 
the  very  second  day  he  was  over  the  wire.  It  came 
about  easily  enough :  a  paper  blew  away  from  one  of 
the  men,  and  the  boy,  who  was  just  considering  how 
he  could  hit  upon  an  excuse  to  get  Into  the  place,  was 
over  the  wire  in  a  trice  and  caught  It  up.  Now  that 
he  was  once  there,  no  one  thought  of  chasing  him  out. 
He  made  himself  useful  by  carrying  the  tape-measure 
and  running  about  with  sticks  to  mark  the  distances. 
When  Sorlne  came  to  the  kitchen  door  and  called,  he 
could  not  hear.  Even  Ditte  had  her  work  cut  out  to 
make  him  listen.  It  would  be  meal-time,  or  some  er- 
rand to  run,  and  he  would  get  scolded.  "Now  you 
shall  be  punished  for  the  rest  of  the  day,"  Ditte  would 
say  severely.  Sorine  kept  silence.  But  before  the 
two  women  had  got  hold  of  him,  he  was  off  again; 
there  was  nothing  to  be  done  with  him. 

The  grown-ups  held  themselves  aloof,  and  observed 


THE  END  OF  BIG  KLAUS  i6i 

the  strangers  from  a  distance,  preferably  from  windows 
and  door  jambs !  So  they  were  Copenhagen  folic ! 
They  made  a  great  splash,  although  there  were  only 
two  of  them.  It  was  said  too  that  when  first  one  had 
got  a  footing  they  multiphed  like  bugs,  and  could  not 
be  got  out  again.     They  brought  no  luck  with  them ! 

At  any  rate,  Big  Klaus  had  nothing  to  thank  the  new 
state  of  things  for.  The  innkeeper  had  not  exactly 
taken  him  over  for  his  own  good,  but  as  a  rule  one 
was  not  obliged  to  see  it.  Here  he  was  ill-treated  be- 
fore their  eyes.  They  could  not  keep  away  from  the 
window,  when  the  load  creaked  and  rattled  down  the 
hollow  lane  through  the  sand,  and  the  driver  cursed  and 
shouted  and  thrashed.  Sister  Else  simply  howled  and 
Ditte  flung  open  the  window  and  shrieked  out.  When 
Lars  Peter  was  anywhere  about,  he  came  running  and 
pushed  behind.  It  sometimes  happened  too  that  he 
swore  at  the  driver — a  young  yokel  from  the  farm; 
but  that  only  made  bad  worse. 

Things  must  be  in  a  pretty  bad  way  with  the  inn- 
keeper's finances  when  he  began  to  sell  the  soil  from 
the  fields  and  hawk  building  materials  about:  it  was 
more  in  his  line  to  rake  in  all  he  could  scrape  together. 
But  it  was  not  a  bit  of  use,  he  was  always  in  need  of 
money.  Every  second  day  he  had  to  drive  in  to  the 
town  to  get  money,  and  he  had  to  go  down  to  the 
harbor  and  urge  the  fishermen  to  work  harder  and 
bring  in  bigger  catches.  They  assented,  but  took 
things  as  easily  as  before.  "It's  just  like  throwing  one's 
work  into  the  sea,"  said  Lars  Peter,  "so  we  might 
just  as  well  let  the  fish  stay  there  1" 


i62         DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

The  innkeeper  had  never  yet  got  over  the  affair  of 
his  wife :  perhaps  it  was  that  that  made  his  legs  give 
way  under  him.  There  was  no  blessing  on  his  enter- 
prises any  more.  He  had  lost  a  lot  of  boats  in  the 
Eastern  storms,  and  the  winter  ice  had  crushed  one 
boat.  These  were  small  misfortunes,  but  he  seemed 
not  to  be  able  to  rally  from  them, — he  had  not  replaced 
them  by  any  new  boats.  One  of  the  old  disused  ones 
had  to  be  put  in  the  water  again. 

One  day  he  came  in  from  the  beach  with  his  two- 
barreled  gun,  he  had  been  out  shooting  gulls.  His 
big  head  suddenly  popped  round  the  kitchen  door. 
Ditte  screamed  and  involuntarily  clutched  her  mother 
by  the  arm. 

"Well,  how  nicely  you  two  are  helping  each  other 
with  the  work,"  said  he  cheerfully,  throwing  a  couple 
of  sea-birds  on  the  table.  "And  Ditte  still  screams  for 
nothing  at  all :  she  has  been  out  and  got  her  bloom 
rubbed  off,  from  what  one  can  hear."  He  said  this 
with  a  cold  satirical  grin,  showing  all  his  teeth.  "Well, 
well,  otherwise  I  had  thought  that  Ditte  might  have 
given  a  hand  in  unloading  the  bricks :  they  want  a 
helper  there,  and  she  has  grown  big  and  strong  out 
there."  Then  he  went  off  without  waiting  for  an 
answer.     They  could  hear  his  wheezing  far  away. 

Ditte  blushed  crimson  at  the  innkeeper's  innuendo. 
She  stood  for  a  moment  hesitating,  then  took  up  an 
apron  of  sacking  from  the  place  under  the  stairs  and 
went  heavily  towards  the  door.  Her  eyes  looked 
frightened. 

Sorine  turned  round :   the   girl's   slowness   was   no- 


THE  END  OF  BIG  KLAUS  163 

ticeable.  She  looked  at  her  for  a  minute — and  noted 
her  absent  manner,  then  took  the  apron  from  her. 
"Let  me  go  instead!"  said  she. 

"But  it  was  me  he  wanted,"  returned  Ditte 
meekly. 

The  mother  said  no  more,  but  took  the  apron  and 
went  out.      Ditte  watched  her  gratefully. 

This  time  Ditte  had  made  no  triumphal  procession 
round  to  all  her  friends  and  acquaintances  in  the  ham- 
let; she  had  not  been  outside  the  door  as  yet.  Lars 
Peter  and  Serine  were  both  agreed  to  save  her  from 
people's  remarks:  she  should  not  go  out  and  run  the 
gauntlet.  She  stayed  at  home,  and  did  the  hardest 
work  for  her  mother,  and  it  was  a  good  thing,  for 
Sorine  had  not  much  strength  left.  She  could  see 
everything  from  the  window;  the  cottages  from  which 
the  women  came  out,  emptied  something  or  other  in 
the  sand  and  disappeared  again.  She  had  also  a  view 
of  the  sea  where  the  men  were  fishing,  and  the  green 
where  the  children  of  the  village  were  clustered.  A  lot 
of  scaffolding  had  been  set  up,  and  the  building  mate- 
rials were  heaped  about,  a  few  masons  were  already 
there;  they  boarded  over  at  the  inn. 

It  was  said  that  they  were  socialists;  they  had  re- 
fused to  lie  on  the  straw  in  the  barn,  or  to  eat  out 
of  the  dish  with  the  farm  servants  at  the  inn, — and 
Ditte  looked  long  after  them.  Throu.rrh  the  open 
kitchen  door  she  could  see  her  mother  taking  stones 
from  the  man  unloading  and  pile  them  ud  in  rows,  and 
hear  her  cough.  It  was  hard  work  for  her,  if  only  she 
could  stand  it  1     Big  Klaus  was  very  hard  worked, — he 


i64        DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

was  back  and  forwards  the  whole  day.  He  never 
rested,  not  even  when  they  loaded  and  unloaded,  for 
they  had  to  work  with  three  carts. 

Now  he  stuck  fast  again,  up  where  the  little  stream 
rippled  over  the  wheel  ruts.  The  driver  used  the  whip 
to  him,  so  hard  that  the  echo  was  heard  over  in  Ras- 
mus Olsen's  hut:  he  was  using  the  butt  end,  and  Big 
Klaus  was  pulling  so  that  he  was  almost  even  with 
the  ground.  But  the  load  did  not  move,  the  wheels 
were  buried  in  the  sand.  The  driver  ran  round  and 
beat  him  over  the  chest  and  forelegs,  then  ran  back 
to  the  cart,  and  beat  him  over  the  back.  Ditte  forgot 
everything  and  rushed  out  screaming. 

Lars  Peter  came  running  with  long  bounds  from 
the  harbor,  his  wooden  shoes  clattering.  "Stop,  you 
beast!"  shouted  he,  and  clenched  his  fist  and  shook  it. 
Big  Klaus  had  fallen,  his  forelegs  sunk  deep  in  the 
wet  sand.  "Catch  hold  of  the  cart  again,  curse  you!" 
he  yelled;  but  it  was  too  late.  The  load  fell  on  the 
horse's  hindquarters:  the  forepart  of  the  cart  had 
broken.  For  a  moment  Lars  Peter  looked  like  a  wild 
animal,  he  had  the  driver  by  the  neck,  and  seemed  likely 
to  break  it.  "Father!"  shouted  Ditte  in  fear.  Then 
he  let  go  and  went  to  the  horse's  side.  It  lay  on  its 
side  panting,  with  both  forelegs  deep  in  the  sand  and 
half  of  the  load  over  it.  Men  came  up  from  the 
harbor  and  the  building  site  and  helped  him  to  get 
the  horse  free  from  the  load  and  the  harness;  he  dug 
the  sand  away  from  his  forelegs.  "Come,  old  friend, 
now  up  again !"  said  he,  and  took  hold  of  the  bit.  The 
horse  lifted  his  head  and  gazed  at  him,  then  lay  down 


THE  END  OF  BIG  KLAUS  165 

on  his  side  and  breathed  heavily.  His  foreleg  was 
broken. 

"We  must  see  about  getting  it  shot,"  said  Lars 
Peter,  "there  is  nothing  else  to  be  done." 

"Ah,"  said  the  village  children.  "Then  we  shall 
get  horse-beef."  But  the  children  in  the  "poor  house" 
wept. 

The  innkeeper  himself  came  and  shot  Big  Klaus  in 
the  forehead,  and  his  body  was  put  on  a  cart  and  driven 
up  to  the  farm.  Lars  Peter  helped  to  lift  it  up,  and 
followed  to  the  farm, — he  wanted  to  skin  it  himself. 
"I  have  done  a  lot  of  knacker's  work  in  my  time, 
and  would  like  to  do  the  last  service  to  Big  Klaus," 
he  said  to  Serine  to  excuse  himself.  She  was  silent  as 
was  her  custom,  but  did  not  seem  to  have  any  objec- 
tion. 

But  the  morning  the  horseflesh  was  to  be  divided, 
she  showed  a  little  more  life  than  usual.  She  sent 
the  children  out  with  a  big  basket.  "See  that  you  bring 
home  a  good  piece,"  said  she — "it  is  more  our  prop- 
erty than  any  others'."  That  day  Lars  Peter  got  a 
beefsteak  for  dinner  such  as  he  had  not  had  for  a  long 
time. 

"It  is  curious  enough,"  said  he,  as  he  ate,  "that  so 
old  and  worn-out  a  horse  as  Big  Klaus  should  make 
such  good  steak.  It  is  really  sweet.  Take  a  good  help- 
ing of  it,  Mother,  horseflesh  is  said  to  be  so  good  for  a 
weak  chest.  Eat  plenty,  children,  it  is  not  every  day 
we  have  meat  for  dinner."  He  said  all  this  with  a 
touch  of  gallows  humor. 

Well,  the  boys  were  ravenous  as  usual.     Ditte  was 


1 66         DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

just  as  she  was  with  all  her  food,  so  one  could  not  count 
her.  But  Else,  poor  little  thing,  chewed  and  chewed, 
and  could  not  swallow  a  bite.  "It  is  so  strange !"  ex- 
claimed she,  and  suddenly  began  to  cry. 


CHAPTER  XVi 
HOME  AGAIN 

SORINE  went  very  quietly  about  her  daily  tasks. 
She  certainly  was  not  strong.  She  coughed  a 
good  deal  and  suffered  from  night  sweats.  Lars 
Peter  and  Ditte  leagued  together  to  get  her  to  go  to 
bed  as  soon  as  they  had  had  supper.  She  was  most 
reluctant,  for  she  had  been  so  long  away  that  she 
loved  her  home  and  wanted  to  see  to  so  many  things. 
But  it  was  quite  necessary. 

"If  only  it  isn't  consumption,"  said  Lars  Peter  one 
evening  when  they  had  got  her  into  bed  in  the  bedroom 
and  they  were  sitting  in  the  parlor  talking.  "It  really 
seems  as  if  one  could  see  the  germs  making  her  more 
hollow-eyed  every  day.  Don't  you  think  it  would  be  a 
good  idea  to  make  her  eat  boiled  linseed.  They  say 
that  is  so  good  for  consumption." 

Ditte  did  not  think  it  was  worth  while  trying. 
"Mother  eats  so  little,"  said  she,  "and  often  throws 
it  all  up  again.  It  must  be  the  stomach  she  is  suffering 
from." 

"One  would  think  it  was  the  chest  after  all  that  is 

wrong.     What  a  cough !     It  sounds  like  a  boat  being 

drawn  over  the  pebbles  on  the  beach,  when  it  rightly 

gets  a  hold  of  her.     That  comes  from  the  wet  walls 

in  the  prison;  she  says  herself,  the  water  was  dripping 

from  them." 

167 


i68         DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

"I  thought  that  Mother  never  mentioned  that  time," 
exclaimed  Ditte,  astonished. 

"Well,  not  much,  but  now  and  again  it  happens  that 
she  lets  fall  a  remark  about  it.  But  she  generally 
goes  about  like  a  person  without  much  interest  in  any- 
thing." Lars  Peter  sighed.  "And  how  do  you  feel?" 
he  said  and  laid  his  hand  over  hers,  on  the  table. 

Ditte  did  not  directly  answer  the  question. 

"Are  you  still  of  the  mind  that  I  am  not  to  go  to 
Hill  Farm?  Really,  for  I  should  just  glory  in  telling 
that  rascally,  rotten  pack  what  I  think  of  them.  I  can't 
get  the  law  of  them,  but  I  should  like  to  shake  up  their 
innards  a  bit.     Peasant  spawn  I" 

"Karl  isn't  rotten,"  said  Ditte  gently.  "He  is  only 
weak — and  unhappy." 

"Not  rotten?  I  should  just  say  he  is.  Well,  of 
all  the —  And  that  such  a  lousy  swine  should  call  him- 
self religious  and  go  to  meeting, — I  wonder  that  he 
hasn't  made  you  as  bad  as  himself."  Lars  Peter  was 
furious,  but  it  was  only  for  a  moment,  "Well,  well," 
said  he  good-humoredly,  "it  is  your  business  after 
all.  But  it  won't  be  nice  for  you  to  go  about  in  that 
condition.  It  would  have  been  only  fitting  if 
they  had  put  up  a  little  money  for  you,  so  that 
you  could  have  gone  away  somewhere  till  it  was  all 
over." 

"Money, — they've  got  no  money!  Not  even  so 
much  as  we  have,"  said  Ditte. 

"Well,  anyhow  they're  gorging  up  there  now  and 
making  merry  over  the  wedding  day  and  night.  They 
first  started  on  Sunday,  and  it's  Friday  to-day.     One 


HOME  AGAIN  16^ 

will  scarcely  be  able  to  drive  along  the  roads  for  all 
those  drunken  toffs."  Lars  Peter  was  rather  hurt  that 
he  had  not  been  invited  too;  it  was  his  own  brother's 
wedding  after  all. 

No,  it  was  not  agreeable  for  Ditte,  or  for  the  others. 
Lars  Peter  might  have  added  that  it  was  not  amusing 
for  himself  either.  Both  his  own  mates  and  the 
womenfolk  in  the  hamlet  began  to  question  him  as  to 
whether  Ditte  had  finished  up  at  the  Hill  Farm,  and 
what  she  was  going  to  do  now.  It  sounded  innocent 
enough,  but  he  understood  very  well  what  they  meant 
by  it.  He  was  usually  thin-skinned,  but  that  made  him 
low-spirited — he  had  always  thought  so  much  of  and 
taken  such  delight  in  his  children. 

One  day  little  Povl  came  rushing  home, — with  only 
one  wooden  shoe  on.  "Mother,  is  it  true  that  the  stork 
has  bitten  Sister  Ditte  in  the  leg,  and  she  will  have  a 
little  one  after  it?"  He  could  scarcely  breathe,  poor 
little  chap,  he  was  so  excited. 

"Where  is  your  other  wooden  shoe?"  Sorine 
scowled  at  him  to  direct  his  thoughts  to  something 
else,  but  he  was  not  to  be  intimidated. 

"I  lost  it  out  there.      Is  it  really  true?" 

"Who  talks  such  rubbish?" 

"All  the  children  do,  they  are  screaming  after  me : 
'Yah,  yah,  Ditte  is  going  to  have  a  baby.'  " 

"Stay  at  home  and  play,  then  no  one  will  be  able  to 
cry  after  you." 

"But  is  it  true?"  He  got  a  piece  of  sugared  bread, 
which  effectually  stopped  his  mouth.     Then  he  went 


I70         DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

to  sit  on  the  lowest  step  of  the  stairs  leading  to  the 
loft  and  gobbled  it  down. 

Ditte  was  sitting  in  the  parlor  darning  the  children's 
things;  she  bent  low  over  her  work. 

Shortly  after  Sister  Else  came  in  with  Povl's  lost 
shoe  in  her  hand :  a  crowd  of  children  stood  down  by 
the  rocks  booing.  It  was  not  hard  to  see  that  they 
had  called  after  her,  and  her  eyes  were  red-rimmed. 
She  went  silently  into  the  parlor  and  stationed  herself 
at  the  window.  There  she  stood  looking  DItte  up 
and  down.  "What  are  you  staring  at,  lass  ?"  said  Ditte 
at  last,  blushing  furiously.  Else  looked  away  and" 
went  into  the  kitchen  to  help  her  mother,  but  DItte 
felt  her  accusing  eyes  on  her  for  long  afterwards,  and 
they  worried  her. 

But  Kristian  was  the  worst  of  all,  for  he  would 
not  look  at  her.  He  kept  away  all  day  long,  and  only 
turned  his  little  nose  homewards  when  it  was  feeding- 
time,  came  in  when  the  others  had  begun  and  slipped 
into  his  place  with  his  hat  on  his  knees,  ready  to  be 
off  again.  He  would  not  look  at  any  of  them,  and 
kept  his  eyes  cast  down.  If  he  was  spoken  to,  and 
he  could  not  avoid  answering,  he  was  rude  and  short 
in  his  reply.  It  made  Ditte  most  unhappy;  he  had 
always  been  the  most  difficult  of  the  children,  and 
for  that  reason  she  loved  him  the  best.  He  needed 
more  love. 

One  day  Ditte  found  him  up  in  the  loft.  He  was 
sitting  right  up  under  the  roof  with  an  old  fishing  line 
in  his  lap :  frightfully  busy  with  it.  He  had  wet,  dirty 
streaks  on  his  cheeks. 


HOME  AGAIN  171 

"What  are  you  sitting  up  here  for?"  said  she  and 
pretended  to  be  surprised. 

"What  business  is  it  of  yours?"  he  retorted  and 
kicked  her  in  the  shin. 

She  sank  down  on  a  wooden  box,  and  rocked  herself 
to  and  fro,  with  her  hands  folded  over  her  leg,  and 
her  head  bowed  down.  "Oh,  Kristian,  little  Kristian !" 
she  moaned. 

Kristian  saw  that  she  had  grown  very  white,  and 
he  crept  out  of  his  hiding  place.  "You  can  just  let 
me  alone,"  he  said,  "I  haven't  done  you  any  harm." 
He  stood  glowering  past  her  and  knew  not  what  to 
say. 

"I  have  not  done  you  any  harm  either,"  answered 
Ditte.     Her  voice  sounded  meek  and  appeasing. 

"Ah — perhaps  you  think  I'm  stupid  and  can't  see 
anything!  I've  got  to  go  about  fighting  the  other 
fellows,  and  giving  them  a  smack  in  the  eye,  and  it's  true 
after  all." 

"What  is  true?"  Ditte  asked  feebly.  But  she  gave 
up  the  pretense  and  collapsed  with  her  apron  over  her 
face. 

Kristian  pulled  helplessly  at  her  hands.  "Don't  go 
and  cry!"  he  begged.  "It  is  so  silly.  I  didn't  mean 
to  kick  you,  raally.     I  was  only  so  sick  of  it  all !" 

"Oh,  it  doesn't  matter,"  answered  Ditte,  sniffing. 
"You  can  kick  me  if  you  want  to — 1  deserve  it!"  She 
tried  to  smile  and  be  more  cheerful,  and  Kristian  took 
hold  of  her  to  help  her  up.  But  he  only  pulled  at  the 
sleeve  of  her  dress;  it  seemed  as  if  he  was  afraid  to 
touch  her.     She  had  noticed  that  the  other  childrea 


172        DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

were  the  same,  they  never  came  and  leaned  against 
her  now,  and  seemed  too  bashful  to  touch  her.  Some- 
thing that  was  none  of  theirs  lay  within  her  now. 

"Ah,  Kristian,  I  could  not  help  it!  It  was  not  my 
fault !"  She  took  his  face  in  her  hands  and  looked  into 
his  eyes. 

"I  know  that  all  right!"  he  answered,  and  twisted 
his  face  away  from  her.  "And  I  don't  say  anything 
against  you  either.  But  they  shall  get  paid  out!" 
Then  he  sprang  off  down  the  stairs,  and  she  saw  him 
making  off  towards  the  northeast  over  the  rocks. 

"Where  is  Kristian?"  asked  Lars  Peter  as  they  sat 
at  supper.  "He  has  to  help  me  bail  out  the  boat." 
No  one  knew :  Ditte  had  her  doubts,  but  dared  not  say 
anything.  At  bedtime  he  had  not  come  home.  "So 
he's  out  on  the  loose!"  said  Lars  Peter  sadly.  "I  was 
so  pleased  to  think  that  he  had  got  over  that :  he  hasn't 
gone  for  a  year  or  more.  Yes,  not  since  he  made  off 
to  see  you  at  the  Hill  Farm,  Ditte." 

On  the  morning  of  the  next  day  a  strange  man  ar- 
rived with  Kristian  in  tow.  Serine  went  into  the 
kitchen.  "Here  is  a  boy  who  belongs  to  you,"  said 
the  stranger,  and  pushed  Kristian  forwards  inside  the 
back  door. 

Lars  Peter  came  to  the  stairhead  in  the  loft:  he  had 
just  come  back  from  fishing  and  was  going  to  bed. 
"What  does  all  this  mean?"  he  asked,  looking  from  the 
one  to  the  other. 

"One  of  our  ricks  was  burnt  down  last  night,  and 
this  morning  I  found  this  fellow  hidden  outside  the 
farm.     It  was  only  a  chance  that  worse  didn't  happen," 


HOME  AGAIN  173 

said  the  man  in  an  ev^en  voice  that  expressed  neither 
passion  nor  any  other  feeling. 

Lars  Peter  stood  staring  stupidly  in  front  of  him. 
He  could  not  understand  any  of  it.  "That's  a  bit 
too  thick,  what's  your  burnt  rick  to  do  with  the  lad? 
You  know  he's  not  one  to  burn  a  rick  down !"  Kris- 
tian looked  at  him  with  defiant  eyes.  "You  may  thrash 
me  if  you  like !"  they  seemed  to  say. 

"You  can  say  what  you  like, — that's  how  it  is  !"  said 
the  stranger. 

A  light  dawned  on  Lars  Peter.  "Are  you  the  son 
up  at  the  Hill  Farm?"  he  asked.     The  man  nodded. 

"Well, — then  you've  got  off  cheap,"  and  he  laughed 
unpleasantly.  "It  would  serve  you  just  right  if  the 
whole  damned  place  was  burnt  down  about  your  ears. 
But  the  lad  shall  answer  for  it  all  the  same.  Go 
straight  off  to  bed,  you  varmint!"  Besides  I  should 
like  a  word  in  quiet  with  you."  Lars  Peter  pulled  on 
a   sweater. 

"I  should  be  very  glad  to  get  a  word  with  you  too," 
answered  the  son  at  the  Hill  Farm.  Lars  Peter  started 
— this  was  not  just  the  answer  he  had  expected. 

They  walked  inland.  "Well,  what  are  you  thinking 
of  doing  for  the  lass?"  asked  Lars  Peter,  when  they 
had  passed  the  cottages. 

"You  had  better  say  what  I  should  do!"  said  Karl. 

"Does  that  mean  that  you  will  acknowledge  the  child 
before  all  the  world?" 

Karl  nodded.  "I  had  not  thought  of  trying  to  get 
out  of  anything,"  he  replied  and  looked  Lars  Peter 
squarely  in  the  face. 


174        BITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

"Well,  that  is  always  something!"  Lars  Peter 
seemed  quite  cheered.  "Will  you  get  married — if  it 
happens." 

"1  am  only  nineteen,"  said  Karl,  "but  we  can  get 
engaged." 

"So  that's  how  it  stands^  That  seems  a  bit  cal- 
lo.r."  Lars  Peter  had  got  quite  cooled  down  again. 
He  felt  much  inclined  to  give  the  son  of  the  Hill  Farm 
a  proper  dressing  down,  but  the  opportunity  for  that 
had  gone  by — they  had  talked  too  long  over  things. 
"I  must  say  that  you  have  behaved  very  shabbily,"  said 
he,  and  then  stopped.  "But  that's  just  what  we  poor 
folks  must  expect  of  farmers." 

"You  ought  not  to  say  that,"  answered  Karl.  "I 
have  no  right  to  look  down  on  any  one.  And  I  never 
dreamed  of  doing  you  any  harm  !" 

"Well,  it's  possible !"  Lars  Peter  stretched  out  his 
hand  half  reluctantly — he  could  not  be  angry  long. 
He  was  a  perfect  booby — but  what  the  deuce — 
"Well,  good-by  then.      Perhaps  you  will  write  to  us." 

"I  should  like  to  have  spoken  to  Ditte,"  said  Karl 
hesitatingly. 

"Would  you  indeed!"  Lars  Peter  laughed.  "And 
should  another  do  it  for  you, — foolishly  good  as  peo- 
ple are  ?  No,  no,  we  may  be  pigs,  but  we  do  not  go 
about  rooting!"  Lars  Peter  went  off  a  few  steps,  but 
came  back  again.  "Do  not  misunderstand  me!  If 
the  lass  wants  to  continue  the  acquaintance,  she  may  as 
far  as  I  am  concerned.  But  that  she  must  decide  for 
herself." 

Then  he  went  home  to  sleep. 


CHAPTER  XVI 
THE  SON  FROM  THE  HILL  FARM 

WHEN  Lars  Peter  came  home  for  a  talk  with 
the  little  culprit,  he  had  disappeared.  He 
had  got  out  through  the  window. 
Lars  Peter  went  up  to  the  loft  and  lay  down,  but 
could  not  sleep.  The  meeting  with  the  son  from  the 
Hill  Farm  had  not  exactly  cheered  him;  it  was  cer- 
tainly a  comical  scarecrow  of  a  fellow  the  lass  had  got 
herself  mixed  up  with, — an  awfully  silly  ass!  For  a 
brief  period  he  had  fancied  that  perhaps  Karl  would 
prove  to  be  the  means  of  helping  them  up,  so  that  they 
could  look  folks  in  the  face  again :  but  after  all,  he 
had  turned  out  to  be  a  mere  hobbledehoy, — too  young 
for  marriage  as  yet.  He  could  not  even  earn  his  own 
livelihood,  and  possessed  no  money  at  all.  So  that  was 
a  truly  pleasant  state  of  things!  He  could  not  help 
lying  awake  and  worrying  over  it,  and  could  hear  the 
incessant  wailing  of  old  Doriom's  twin  down  on  the 
ground  floor.  "Granny  is  sleeping!  Granny  is  sleep- 
ing!" wailed  the  babe  unceasingly.  It  sounded  like  a 
cradle  song. 

He  got  up,  went  across  the  loft  and  down  the  steps 
into  the  next  house.  The  twin  was  sitting  on  the  down 
quilt  that  covered  the  old  woman's  bed,  tear-stained,  and 
piteous,  and  repeated  his  cry.  Beside  him  lay  his  dead 
grandmother.     She  had  been  dead  quite  a  time,  for 

175 


176        DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

she  was  cold,  and  the  rats  had  already  been  at  her. 
The  twin  looked  as  though  he  had  been  lying  on  her 
quilt  crying  all  night  long.  It  was  a  shame  that  no 
one  had  heard  him.  But  they  had  got  so  accustomed 
to  hearing  the  baby  crying  that  they  took  no  further 
notice  of  it.  Lars  Peter  took  the  little  one  home  with 
him. 

"I  have  a  little  fellow  here,  who  has  no  one  to  care 
for  him  any  more,"  said  he.  "Mother  has  not  shown 
up  for  a  long  time,  and  now  the  Grandmother  is  lying 
dead  in  there.  Do  you  think  we  can  find  a  bite  of 
bread  and  a  corner  of  the  bed  for  him  here?"  Sonne 
did  not  reply.  But  she  took  the  little  one  by  the  hand 
and  led  him  into  the  room.  Lars  Peter  looked  grate- 
fully after  her.  "We  must  send  one  of  the  boys  up 
to  the  innkeeper  to  report  the  death,"  he  said,  and  went 
to  bed  again.     This  time  he  was  able  to  sleep. 

When  he  woke  up  and  came  down  to  dinner,  Kristian 
had  returned  home ;  he  put  himself  in  his  father's  way 
as  if  he  wanted  the  business  over  and  done  with.  Lars 
Peter  noticed  this  all  right,  but  did  not  see  clearly 
how  he  was  to  tackle  the  situation.  It  would  have 
been  another  matter  in  old  days,  then  such  an  affair 
would  have  made  him  simply  furious;  but  now  he  re- 
garded it  chiefly  from  the  point  of  view  of  the  risk 
the  boy  had  run — and  that  was  now  over.  Lars  Peter 
had  had  many  experiences  in  later  years;  what  hap- 
pened was  like  water  on  a  duck's  back  no  longer,  but 
was  retained  In  his  memory  and  made  him  ponder 
over  the  puzzles  of  existence.  He  had  been  steadily 
going  down  the  hill      But  he  himself  had  not  been 


THE  SON  FROM  THE  HILL  FARM     i77 

to  blame !  His  property  had  been  taken  from  him, — 
then  the  money  he  had  got  for  it, — then  Big  Klaus. 
And  then  Sorine, — though  he  had  her  back  again  now, 
in  what  a  condition!  In  spite  of  all  his  struggles,  his 
slaving  and  striving  to  live  uprightly,  what  had  he  be- 
come? A  poor  lousy  wretch,  a  harmless  fool,  stripped 
to  the  skin  of  all  he  possessed!  An  empty  barrel, — 
that  was  the  result  of  it  all.  And  now  Ditte's  mis- 
fortune was  the  last  straw!  What  was  the  use  of 
being  particular  and  guarding  his  property  and  life 
for  those  who  simply  wasted  it  all?  Lars  Peter  had 
never  known  what  it  was  to  feel  grateful  to  those 
placed  over  him  in  station — he  had  never  had  occasion 
to  cultivate  that  feeling.  But  he  had  accustomed  him- 
self to  the  conditions,  and  tried  to  make  the  best  out 
of  it  for  all  parties.  Now  he  would  often  have  liked 
to  smite  upwards  with  a  hard  hand.  He  would  not 
have  cared  if  Hill  Farm  had  gone  up  in  smoke  and 
flames — not  unless  the  boy  and  he  had  suffered  for  it 
afterwards. 

After  some  time  had  elapsed  the  son  from  the  Hill 
Farm  turned  up  again;  this  time,  it  seemed,  to  settle 
down  there.  He  had  no  shame  at  all  about  it.  He 
came  down  to  the  inn  with  a  bundle  of  working  clothes 
under  his  arm,  and  a  shovel  and  spade  on  his  shoul- 
der, and  asked  for  work;  an  officious  soul  brought 
Lars  Peter  the  news.  "If  he  sets  his  foot  here  again, 
he  goes  out  head  first!"  said  Lars  Peter  threateningly. 

One  morning  when  Ditte  went  to  the  window  to 
open  it,  Karl  was  wheeling  earth  in  the  new  garden  laid 
down  round  the  villa.     She  nearly  screamed  when  she 


178         DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

saw  him;  no  one  had  told  her  he  was  there.  At  the 
sight  of  him  all  the  horror  and  terrors  of  the  Hill 
Farm  woke  anew  in  her.  He  was  not  guilty, — she 
regarded  him  more  as  a  helpless  victim  like  herself:  but 
he  reminded  her  of  it  all. 

She  stood  gazing  after  him,  in  a  strange  mood,  hid- 
ing behind  the  flowering  geraniums,  and  gazing  still. 
He  was  working  better  than  he  had  done  at  home, 
but  he  did  not  look  happy.  "It  is  for  my  sake  that 
he  came  down  here,"  she  thought;  and  a  new  feeling, 
one  of  pride,  went  through  her  while  she  swept  the 
room.  She  was  no  longer  only  a  poor,  ill-used  girl, 
whom  people  jeered  at:  she  had  won  a  victory!  She 
enjoyed  the  feeling  without  trying  to  analyze  it,  or  cal- 
culate what  the  results  would  be.  She  was  inside  the 
room  and  kept  her  eyes  on  him.  "What  shall  I  do 
If  he  comes  and  wants  to  speak  to  me?"  she  thought. 
She  was  not  in  love  with  him.  She  felt  a  certain  sat- 
isfaction that  he  had  come,  but  no  wish  to  speak  to 
him. 

But  he  did  not  look  towards  the  house,  but  stuck 
to  his  work;  at  dinner-time  he  turned  his  wheelbarrow 
upside  down,  opened  his  bundle  and  took  out  food, 
and  began  to  eat.  The  bottom  of  the  barrow  formed 
his  table.  Ditte  could  see  him  from  where  she  sat.  It 
was  odd  to  see  him  sitting  there  alone  to  feed,  espe- 
cially for  her,  when  she  had  served  in  his  home,  laid 
his  place  at  the  table  and  made  his  bed.  He  had  a 
stronger  and  nearer  right  to  be  master  over  her  now! 
Ditte  felt  an  instinctive  desire  to  run  out  and  say: 
"Please  come  in  to  dinner,  Karl!" 


THE  SON  FROM  THE  HILL  FARM     179 

He  was  working  there  the  next  day,  and  the  follow- 
ing days.  It  was  said  that  he  had  taken  on  the  work 
of  making  all  the  garden  to  the  villa,  and  lived  in  a 
straw  thatched  shed  near  the  inn.  He  kept  house  for 
himself,  washed  for  himself,  and  lived  on  scrap  meals. 
It  must  be  a  lonely  and  sad  life.  He  did  not  come  in 
to  visit  them,  he  was  always  a  curious  fellow,  and  per- 
haps he  was  afraid  of  being  turned  out  again !  But 
one  evening  he  prowled  around  the  house.  Ditte  had 
not  been  out  yet, — she  was  too  much  afraid  of  what 
folks  would  say;  but  she  understood  from  the  remarks 
of  her  brothers  and  sister.  She  saw  that  they  knew 
him  and  the  whole  affair.  Kristian  must  have  told 
them. 

Lars  Peter  was  cross.  "What  the  devil  does  he 
want  here?"  he  said  to  Sorine.  "He  makes  a  laugh- 
ing stock  of  us  before  the  whole  village,  by  this  silly 
haunting  the  house  in  the  dark!" 

"It  must  be  for  a  good  reason  he  has  come  here," 
answered  Sorine.  Now  whether  it  was  because  he  was 
a  farmer's  son,  or  whether  her  mind  was  not  strong 
enough  to  grasp  anything  more,  it  was  easy  to  see  that 
Sorine  felt  forgiving  about  it. 

"For  a  good  reason?  I  like  that!  Cheeky  fool! 
If  he  was  only  half  right  in  his  noddle!  But  then  no 
doubt  we  should  see  no  more  of  him!  The  lass  had 
better  pray  the  Lord  to  look  after  him,  and  I  can't 
see  myself  that  she  is  crazy  about  him  either,  and  the 
devil  take  me  if  I  can  understand  how  she  came  to 
get  mixed  up  with  such  a  silly  stick!" 


i8o        DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

They  were  sitting  at  supper,  and  they  had  fish  and 
potato  pie.  It  was  difficult  to  get  anything  out  of  the 
innkeeper  that  summer,  so  they  had  to  ring  the  changes 
on  fish  three  times  a  day.  But  Serine  had  been  lucky 
enough  to  get  hold  of  a  little  piece  of  smoked  bacon : — > 
one  might  say  she  had  coughed  it  home,  for  when  her 
cough  was  very  bad,  the  innkeeper  would  give  her 
something  to  get  her  out  of  the  place.  She  had  minced 
up  the  bacon  and  the  small  pieces  gave  a  pleasant  smoky 
flavor  to  the  fish.  There  was  great  enthusiasm  shown 
for  the  dinner  on  these  occasions. 

The  twin,  whose  real  name  was  Rasmus,  but  who 
was  always  called  As,  sat  on  Lars  Peter's  knee;  he 
was  the  smallest.  The  mother  had  never  turned  up, 
and  he  was  there !  It  was  quite  jolly  to  have  a  young- 
ster on  his  knee  again;  Lars  Peter  had  missed  it  lately; 
Povl  fancied  himself  too  big,  and  was  shy  over  it. 
But  As  liked  to  be  there.     He  was  in  his  fourth  year. 

"There  sits  Mother!"  said  Lars  Peter,  pointing  at 
Sorlne.     But  the  boy  shook  his  head. 

Serine  put  more  fish  pie  on  their  plates;  that  was 
her  answer.  She  never  overflowed  with  caresses  or 
coaxing  words,  but  she  looked  after  the  twin,  just  as 
she  did  for  their  own.  "She  is  a  good  little  mother," 
said  Lars  Peter  when  she  went  out  into  the  kitchen 
for  a  moment,  "only  she  finds  it  difficult  to  show  her 
love  in  words."  He  wanted  the  children  to  be  fond 
of  her,  and  tried  to  point  out  her  good  qualities  on 
every  possible  occasion,  but  there  was  still  something 
to  be  counteracted.  Up  to  a  certain  point  they  liked 
her,  obeyed  her,  and  distrusted  her  no  longer.     Ditte's 


THE  SON  FROM  THE  HILL  FARM     i8i 

misfortune  had  helped  Sorine  to  stand  better  with  re- 
gard to  them:  Ditte  was  no  longer  their  one  and  all. 
But  she  never  possessed  the  children's  confidence,  and 
she  did  not  lay  herself  out  to  obtain  it  either.  She 
seemed  happiest  when  she  was  able  to  wrap  herself  in 
her  own  thoughts,  and  appeared  not  to  miss  other  peo- 
ple, not  even  Lars  Peter.  "She  goes  about  like  one 
who  has  said  good-by  to  all  things  earthly,"  thought 
Lars  Peter,  often  in  depressed  mood.  But  he  never 
said  so  out  loud. 

When  they  had  finished,  Lars  Peter  sat  looking 
at  the  sea,  which  was  covered  with  white  horses. 
"Where  can  Kristian  be?"  he  said,  and  began  to  fill 
his  pipe.  This  meant  that  he  was  going  for  a  turn, 
for  he  never  smoked  in  the  room  because  of  Sorine. 
Just  then  Kristian  came  in.  He  flung  his  hat  down 
in  a  corner  and  pushed  his  way  in  to  the  bench.  He 
was  clearly  in  a  rage. 

"Why  can't  you  come  in  in  time?"  asked  Ditte  re- 
provingly. The  boy's  whims  and  tempers  were  get- 
ting a  bit  too  much  ! 

Kristian  did  not  answer  but  began  devouring  his 
food.  When  the  first  pangs  of  hunger  were  satisfied 
he  raised  his  head.  "There's  some  one  standing  be- 
hind the  fire-engine  house,"  he  announced  to  the  gen- 
eral public.  "He  asked  me  to  say  so  at  home, — but  1 
was  not  to  let  any  one  hear  it,  he  said."  With  the 
last  words  he  looked  spitefully  at  Ditte. 

"What  the  devil!  Is  he  going  to  begin  night 
walks?"  exclaimed  Lars  Peter  angrily.  "Has  he  not 
done  us  harm  enough?" 


1 82         DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

"Father !"  said  a  voice  from  the  half-open  bedroom 
door.  Serine  was  already  undressing.  There  was  a 
little  hint  of  wonder  in  the  cry. 

"What  the  devil!  You  must  admit — "  he  began, 
but  broke  off.  The  children  stood  listening,  with  open 
mouths  and  staring  eyes. 

Ditte  went  into  the  kitchen,  and  put  on  a  scarf. 
"Else  can  clear  away  the  things,"  she  said.  "I  am 
going  out  a  little."  Her  voice  trembled.  Lars  Peter 
came  out  to  her  in  the  kitchen  doorway. 

"I  did  not  mean  to  hurt  you  !"  he  said  softly.  "You 
know  that  right  well.  But  If  I  were  in  your  place,  I 
should  keep  away  from  him.  He  means  you  no  good." 
He  laid  his  hand  affectionately  on  Ditte's  shoulder. 

"I  will  speak  to  him,"  said  Ditte,  still  with  angry- 
eyes.  "So  you  can  just  think  what  you  like  about  it! 
I  believe  he  is  only  sorry  about  it  all,"  she  added  more 
calmly. 

"That's  just  the  most  deceitful  kind.  An  old  prov- 
erb says  that  sniveling  lads  are  not  healthy.  Well, 
well,  do  as  you  think  fit.     I  only  wanted  to  warn  you." 

Ditte  went  out  into  the  dusk.  Ah,  how  grand  It  was 
to  get  a  mouthful  of  fresh  air  again  after  being  shut 
up  so  long.  She  wondered  what  Karl  wanted  to  say 
to  her.  Yes,  and  what  did  she  want  with  him,  after 
all.  She  knew  she  did  not  want  to  marry,  If  It  could 
only  take  place  after  the  great  event.  Then  she  would 
go  as  a  servant  to  Copenhagen,  where  there  was  a 
little  life,  and  no  one  would  know  her  past.  She  would 
not  stay  here  and  go  about  with  a  flabby  fellow,  with 
no  backbone  to  him.     But  she  did  not  mind  going  for 


THE  SON  FROM  THE  HILL  FARM     183 

a  walk  through  the  village  on  his  arm,  just  to  show 
the  folks  that  she  had  a  father  for  her  baby  if  she 
wanted  one. 

He  was  waiting  behind  the  engine  house;  he  stepped 
out  when  she  left  her  home.  "I  knew  your  step  !"  said 
he  happily,  and  took  her  hand. 

"Why  do  you  hide  like  this?"  asked  she,  a  little 
crossly. 

"It  is  not  for  my  own  sake ;  every  one  may  see  my 
way  of  life,  and  know  what  I  am  after."  His  voice 
was  even  and  calm;  there  was  none  of  the  thrill  about 
him,  that  always  gave  her  palpitation,  and  a  feeling  of 
misfortune.  But  he  was  still  heavy-hearted  and 
gloomy;  it  showed  in  his  walk  and  bearing. 

"You  don't  need  to  go  and  hide  for  my  sake,"  said 
Ditte  and  laughed  bitterly.  "For  every  one  knows 
it,  and  even  the  little  children  go  and  call  out  about 
it.     If  you  want  anything  of  me,  you  can  come  by  day." 

"I  should  like  to,"  said  Karl.  "But  your  father 
can't  bear  the  sight  of  me." 

"Oh,  you  don't  need  to  be  afraid  of  Father, — not 
if  you  mean  honestly  by  me." 

They  went  on  side  by  side,  talking  softly,  and  soon 
came  clear  of  the  cottages  and  out  into  the  hollow 
lane  leading  up  to  the  inn.  It  was  Saturday  evening, 
and  several  women  came  from  the  inn  with  provisions 
for  Sunday.  Ditte  wished  them  good-evening  in  a 
loud  voice;  she  was  not  sorry  that  they  should  see  her 
in  company  of  the  one  who  had  seduced  her. 

"May  I  come  and  fetch  you  for  a  walk  to-morrow 
morning?"  said  Karl  imploringly,  squeezing  her  hand. 


1 84        DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

"We  could  go  together  to  the  house  of  God."  He 
spoke  forlornly,  and  his  hand  was  cold — he  needed 
human  companionship.  Ditte  noticed  it,  she  was  sorry 
for  him,  and  let  him  hold  her  hand. 

No,  she  would  not  go  to  church  with  him !  She 
did  not  feel  like  a  sinner,  and  would  not  have  people 
sitting  and  saying,  "See  those  two  penitents  over  there," 
and  perhaps  beginning  to  sniff  from  sympathy.  "But 
will  you  go  with  me  through  the  whole  village,  and 
past  the  inn?"  she  asked  and  listened  breathlessly  for 
the  answer.  "But  I  will  take  your  arm,  and  say  my- 
self just  how  far  we  will  walk.  Perhaps  right  out  to 
Fredericksværk."  She  wanted  to  be  seen  all  over 
the  place  with  him. 

Karl  smiled.  "We  will  go  as  far  as  you  like, — and 
can  hold  out,"  he  replied.  "But  will  you  give  me  a 
really  good  kiss,  not  for  sympathy,  but  for  my  own 
sake?" 

"I'm  not  so  crazy  about  you,  but  It  might  come 
to  that  yet,"  said  Ditte,  and  kissed  him.  She  noticed 
by  the  trembling  of  his  lips  how  he  needed  warmth. 
"You  too  have  a  sad  life,"  she  cried  involuntarily  and 
thought  as  she  said  it  of  food  and  home  comforts. 
How  could  he  pass  the  time,  without  a  soul  by  him? 

"Oh,  I  think  a  lot,"  he  answered  quietly. 

"What  do  you  think  about  then,  about  me?"  Ditte 
asked  and  laughed  archly. 

"Mostly  about  the  child.  It  is  so  wonderful  that 
a  new  human  life  is  born  from  our  desires.  God  has 
His  own  mysterious  ways,  my  dear!" 

Now  he  was  beginning  his  old  refrain,  and  Ditte  be- 


THE  SON  FROM  THE  HILL  FARM     185 

gan  to  think  she  had  better  go  home.  When  they  came 
near  the  cottage  and  stood  to  say  good-night,  he  slipped 
something  into  her  hand;  it  was  a  ten-kroner  note. 

"1  won't  have  your  money,"  said  Ditte,  pushing  it 
away.  He  stood  with  it  in  his  hand,  crestfallen. 
"Then  I  have  nothing  to  work  for,"  said  he. 

"Yes,  when  that  is  for  the  child,  then  it  is  another 
thing.  But  you  must  not  go  and  scrimp  yourself,  and 
give  us  all  your  week's  wages;  I  won't  have  that!"  She 
did  not  know  what  she  was  saying,  she  was  so  con- 
fused: her  voice  sounded  angry. 

Only  when  she  ^yas  lying  in  bed  with  the  note  clasped 
tightly  in  her  hand  did  she  realize  what  had  happened. 
She  did  not  need  to  worry  any  more  about  taking 
the  bread  out  of  the  others'  mouths,  or  shudder  to 
think  where  the  money  for  the  birth  was  to  come  from; 
she  had  found  a  protector.  Karl  was  no  longer  a 
burden  on  her  existence,  she  could  rely  on  him.  It  re- 
lieved her  so  much  that  she  curled  up  in  bed  and  cried 
once  more  over  him. 


CHAPTER  XVII 
DITTE  BASKS  IN  THE  SUN 

DITTE  and  her  mother  had  .been  busy;  they  had 
taken  advantage  of  a  time  when  all  the  others 
were  out  to  let  out  the  band  of  her  best  home- 
spun dress.     It  was  the  second  time  the  skirt  had  been 
let  out,  but  it  was  a  struggle  to  get  it  hooked  all  the 
same. 

"You  must  hold  your  breath,"  said  Serine;  she  sat 
on  a  chair  and  exerted  all  her  strength,  while  Ditte 
stood  upright  with  her  back  to  her,  fiery  red  in  the 
face.  Her  mother  was  not  very  strong,  to  be  sure, 
but  it  was  painful ! 

"You  must  be  at  least  seven  months  gone,"  she  said. 

At  last  it  was  hooked;  Ditte  threw  a  shav\l  over  her 
head,  took  a  basket  with  a  big  plaice  in  it  under  her 
shawl  and  hurried  out. 

Just  outside  she  met  Kristian  rushing  up;  he  nearly 
knocked  her  down. 

"There's  going  to  be  a  feast!"  he  shouted  as  he 
burst  in. 

Ditte  went  along  the  wall  of  the  house,  treading 
carefully  so  as  to  avoid  the  rubbish  heaps  outside  the 
doors  of  the  other  tenants.  Fore-and-Aft  Jakob  stood 
at  the  corner  with  his  head  close  against  the  wall,  at 
which  he  was  picking;  he  had  picked  off  nearly  all  the 
facing  and  the  laths  were  bare  in  many  places. 

i86 


DITTE  BASKS  IN  THE  SUN  187 

"Can't  you  manage  to  find  the  word  soon?"  said 
Ditte;  it  was  a  standing  joke. 

Jakob  raised  his  hand  as  a  warning  that  she  w^as 
not  to  disturb  him — so  he  was  on  the  point  of  finding 
it. 

Ditte  took  the  path  to  "Gingerbread  House."  The 
sun  was  shining  and  from  the  villa  came  the  sounds 
of  hammering  and  song.  The  little  house  looked 
freshly  painted  as  usual;  all  about  it  was  clean  and 
tidy,  and  the  elder  over  the  well  was  in  flower.  It 
was  like  coming  into  quite  another  world.  Ditte  had 
not  been  there  by  daylight  since  she  came  home;  in  the 
evening  she  often  went  over  to  help  the  two  old  people. 

The  old  woman  was  in  bed — it  was  senile  infirmity. 

"So  you've  come  in  the  sunshine?"  she  said.  "I 
thought  you  only  took  moonlight  walks.      How's  that  ?" 

Ditte  turned  aside.  "I've  brought  a  plaice,"  she 
said  in  embarrassment. 

"Thank  you,  my  girl,  it  was  good  of  your  father 
to  think  of  us  old  folks.  But  what  has  happened  to 
you?"  She  caught  hold  of  Ditte's  hand,  forced  her 
to  turn  round  and  looked  at  her  with  a  smile.  Ditte 
had  to  sit  on  the  corner  of  the  blue  alcove.  "Well, 
tell  me  all  about  it." 

"He  is  come,"  said  Ditte  in  a  whisper. 

"What  he? — there  are  so  many  he's,"  laughed  the 
old  woman. 

"Karl,  the  son  from  the  Hill  Farm." 

"So  it's  a  son  from  the  Hill  Farm — you  might  have 
confessed  that  to  me  before,  and  then  perhaps  Fa- 
ther could  have  helped  you  to  get  your  rights.     And 


i«8        DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

now  he's  come  of  his  own  accord,  you  say,  with  his 
mother's  approval?" 

"No,  his  mother  curses  him.  She  is  so  wicked — a 
regular  devil." 

"She's  not  good,  I  know,  but  there  must  be  reasons 
why  she  is  what  she  is.  We  must  beware  of  con- 
demning anybody,  for  judged  by  the  Lord's  measure 
we  should  all  fall  short.  But  now  you  can  be  married, 
thank  God!" 

"He  is  not  old  enough  yet,  and  I  don't  know  whether 
I  want  to  either,"  whispered  Ditte. 

"You  don't  like  him?"  The  old  woman  looked  at 
her  in  dismay.  "Then  indeed  things  have  gone  wrong 
with  you,  worse  almost  than  one  can  imagine."  She 
drew  Ditte  down  to  her.  "You  poor  little  thing," 
she  said,  stroking  her  head  with  both  hands;  "it  must 
have  been  a  terrible  time  for  you."  Her  cheeks  quiv- 
ered— just  as  Granny's  had  done  long,  long  ago ;  and 
they  were  just  as  soft.  Ditte  lay  quite  still  and  let 
the  fumbling  hands  caress  her;  it  was  long  since  any 
hands  had  touched  her  so  kindly. 

The  old  woman  pushed  her  gently  away.  "Can  you 
take  out  the  bottom  drawer  of  the  chest  of  drawers?" 
she  said. 

It  was  placed  on  a  chair  by  the  bed  and  she  chose 
from  it  some  old  sheets  and  cloths  and  napkins  that 
had  become  as  soft  as  silk  with  washing  and  wear. 

"They  will  do  for  the  little  one,"  she  said,  laying 
them  in  a  pile;  "they  are  worn,  you  know,  but  that 
makes  them  all  the  softer.  And  here  is  something 
coarser  for  yourself,  and  here's  a  pair  of  hemstitched 


DITTE  BASKS  IN  THE  SUN  189 

sheets  and  a  nice  pillow-case ;  we  shall  have  to  find  you 
a  nightdress  too,  so  that  you  can  be  all  in  white  when 
you're  confined.  You  must  receive  your  children  in 
white,  then  they'll  turn  out  well." 

There  was  a  great  heap  of  things. 

Ditte  sat  and  looked  at  them  with  her  eyes  full  of 
tears;  inwardly  she  was  laughing  and  crying  at  the  same 
time.  What  was  going  to  happen  was  suddenly  and 
violently  brought  home  to  her;  it  had  never  been  so 
actual  before.  She  thought  she  could  see  herself  in 
childbed,  with  the  child  in  her  arms  already.  But 
they  were  white,  she  and  the  child;  her  nightdress  had 
lovely  frills  round  the  neck  and  the  wrists,  and  the 
white  border  of  the  pillow  lay  round  her  and  the  lit- 
tle one. 

"There  now,"  said  the  old  woman,  waking  her  from 
her  dream — "let  it  stay  there  and  Kristian  can  fetch 
it;  you  needn't  have  the  trouble  of  carrying  it.  And 
now  will  you  give  me  the  bottom  drawer  but  one." 

This  was  full  of  fine  old  things,  neckerchiefs  and 
embroidered  linen;  it  was  all  in  beautiful  order  and 
lavender  was  strewn  among  it. 

"Look  here,  Ditte !"  The  old  woman  took  up  a 
cambric  handkerchief  bordered  with  lace.  "This  is 
my  bridal  kerchief.  I  have  wept  in  it — but  not  from 
sorrow;  you  can  see  the  rust-spots  are  red — those  were 
tears  of  joy.  It  has  only  been  used  that  once,  and 
then  it  was  put  away — with  the  tears  in  it.  You  are 
to  spread  that  over  my  face  when  I  am  put  in  my 
coffin.  You  will  help  Father  to  do  that,  won't  you? 
That  there  is  my  bridal  linen — I  am  to  be  dressed  in 


I90        DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

that.  Ah  I  you  don't  do  these  things  any  more;  but 
we  that  were  young  then,  we  wanted  to  follow  the  great 
events  right  up  to  the  hour  of  death.  And  that's  why 
we  like  young  people  who  are  rather  serious.  They 
say  there's  one  of  the  Hill  Farm  sons  that  goes  to  the 
prayer  meetings." 

"Yes,  that's  Karl,"  said  Ditte.  "He  is  so  solemn 
about  it." 

"And  do  you  think  it  would  be  better  if  he  took 
things  lightly — with  the  sort  of  home  he's  got?  He 
has  not  chosen  the  worst  way;  his  mother  tried  other 
ways  of  getting  out  of  her  youthful  troubles,  she  did." 

"Did  you  know  her  when  she  was  young?"  asked 
Ditte. 

"Yes,  and  she  was  a  good  girl.  We  had  some  prop- 
erty over  in  that  direction  and  she  was  often  at  our 
house.  She  was  engaged  too,  but  her  parents  forced 
her  to  take  another  that  they  liked  better,  and  that 
was  what  spoiled  her.  She  burned  her  bridal  kerchief 
as  soon  as  she  came  home  from  church,  and  sat  on  her 
chest  all  night — she  would  not  go  to  bed  with  him.  But 
they  broke  her  at  last.  And  now  you  may  go,  my  child ; 
I  must  rest  a  little  while  Father's  down  at  the  beach. 
I  suppose  you've  heard  there^s  to  be  a  feast  this 
autumn  ?" 

Yes,  Ditte  had  heard,  but  she  didn't  believe  it. 
"Why,  he's  nothing  in  the  shop !"  she  said. 

"He's  in  a  poor  way,  sure  enough,  but  that  needn't 
stop  him.  He  always  acts  the  opposite  way  to  other 
people." 


DITTE  BASKS  IN  THE  SUN  191 

T)Itte  did  not  go  straight  home,  but  walked  round  by 
the  villa.  The  roof  was  on  now;  the  workmen  were 
hammering  away  inside,  singing  and  whistling  all  the 
time;  it  sounded  strange  to  Ditte — people  didn't  sing 
at  their  work  either  at  the  hamlet  or  at  the  Hill  Farm. 
The  heavy  work  in  the  garden  was  finished;  Karl  was 
now  engaged  in  planting  among  the  dunes. 

Lars  Jensen's  widow  gave  her  a  nod  from  her  door- 
way. 

"It's  quite  nice  to  see  you  about  again.  Good  luck!" 
she  said. 

Ditte  knew  what  she  was  alluding  to.  "Thanks!" 
she  answered.  She  didn't  mind  them  regarding  her 
as  engaged. 

"There's  going  to  be  a  dance  here  soon — you  know 
that,  don't  you?"  said  Lars  Jensen's  widow,  involun- 
tarily running  her  eyes  over  Ditte's  figure. 

"Yes,  the  innkeeper's  going  to  have  an  autumn  feast 
this  year,  and  there'll  be  a  floor  for  dancing  too,  so 
they  say.  Strange  enough,  when  he's  been  so  much 
against  dancing!  That  was  the  excuse  he  gave  eight 
years  ago,  that  he  wouldn't  have  a  feast  any  more  be- 
cause the  young  people  danced. — But  now  we  shall  have 
a  chance  of  celebrating  your  engagement." 

Ditte  walked  on  round  by  the  harbor.  It  was  rather 
trying  to  walk  alone,  people's  eyes  were  fixed  on  her 
figure;  she  would  have  liked  to  have  Karl  on  her  arm. 
She  was  big  in  proportion  to  her  slight  figure;  she 
moved  heavilv  and  all  the  staring  made  her  sway  still 
more.  Her  face  had  got  thin,  especially  about  the 
nose!     It  looked  longer   and   more   pointed   and   the 


192         DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

freckles  round  it  showed  up.  She  parried  people's 
stares  with  a  resigned  smile  which  was  always  on 
her  face — a  sort  of  apology  in  advance.  One  after 
another  they  came  and  congratulated  her.  She  could 
see  that  they  were  taken  up  with  her  affairs  and  that 
they  were  beginning  to  take  another  view  of  her 
now. 

As  she  went  along,  they  stood  looking  after  her 
and  talking  together.  The  thing  that  interested  them 
was  that  the  Hill  Farm  boy  acknowledged  his  rela- 
tions with  her  and  was  willing  to  marry  her.  They 
had  begun  a  little  too  early,  but  after  all,  a  girl  en- 
gaged was  half  a  wife !  And  he  was  a  farmer's  son, 
too.  There  must  be  something  in  the  girl  all  the 
same,  beyond  what  anybody  could  see,  since  he  had 
taken  such  a  liking  to  her  after  the  first  taste — it  was 
generally  the  other  way !  He  must  see  something  in 
her,  as  they  said,  which  nobody  else  had  suspected — ■ 
for  he  was  clean  daft  about  her.  And  she  was  a  good 
girl  for  .that  matter. 

Lars  Peter  was  the  last  to  be  converted.  He  stuck 
out  for  a  long  time  that  Karl  must  be  soft-headed. 
"How  else  should  he  come  begging  to  be  allowed  to 
look  after  the  girl  and  her  child?  The  likes  of  those 
farmers'  sons  always  clear  out  of  it.  No,  he's  not 
right  in  the  nut,  he  isn't." 

But  anyhow  he  was  devoted,  he  followed  Ditte  about 
like  a  dog.  And  he  wasn't  afraid  of  work  either — 
he  was  a  handy  man.  And  even  if  he  hadn't  much 
sense — the  girl  had  a  head  for  two.  When  Lars 
Peter  had  admitted  so  much,  it  didn't  <-ake  him  long 


DITTE  BASKS  IN  THE  SUN  193 

to  yield  altogether.  And  having  done  that  he  soon 
began  to  feel  for  Karl. 

"He  roots  about  all  by  himself  and  never  gets  a 
warm  meal,"  he  said.  "And  it's  a  shame  that  he  should 
have  to  sleep  out  there  in  the  shed.  Couldn't  we  man- 
age it  so  that  he  had  his  meals  with  us  and  slept  up  in 
the  loft?  Then  he'd  get  something  for  his  weelc's 
wages,  for  he  brings  them  here  anyhow." 

It  wasn't  so  easy,  though;  Lars  Peter  had  his  bed 
up  there,  and  there  wasn't  much  room,  as  the  place 
was  full  of  tools  and  other  lumber.  But  there  was 
the  loft  over  Doriom's  den;  that  was  still  empty,  no- 
body would  move  into  it.  Lars  Peter  had  thought  of 
getting  a  pig  and  keeping  it  in  there,  so  that  they  might 
have  some  meat  for  the  winter.  There  was  plenty 
of  offal  to  feed  it  on,  and  the  innkeeper  was  not  so 
particular  now. 

Thus  it  was  that  Karl  became  a  member  of  the 
family. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 
THE  FEAST 

IT  was  the  loveliest  autumn  morning  one  could  wish, 
just  the  sort  of  morning  to  usher  in  a  fine  day. 
The  fog  hung  over  the  sea,  white  and  restless; 
it  only  needed  a  little  sunshine  and  a  breath  of  the 
morning  breeze  to  sweep  it  away. 

The  hamlet  was  on  its  feet  at  the  first  sign  of  dawn; 
the  youngsters  could  not  sleep.  They  were  too  ex- 
cited about  the  day;  the  first  streak  of  light  tickled  their 
noses  and  they  woke  up.  Then  it  was  all  over  with 
the  mothers'  sleep;  there  was  nothing  to  be  done  but 
to  humor  their  offspring  and  get  up.  It  was  not  much 
too  early  either;  the  boats  came  home  unusually  early 
that  day.  Here  and  there  the  hollow  scraping  of  oars 
in  the  rowlocks  could  be  heard  in  the  fog;  the  boats 
might  easily  be  in  before  the  fire  was  lighted  and  the 
water  boiling  for  the  coffee.  The  worst  disgrace  that 
could  befall  any  woman  in  the  hamlet  was  that  her 
husband  should  come  home  without  her  being  ready 
to  receive  him  with  something  warm. 

Now  the  sun  burst  out  over  the  dunes  and  swept 
away  the  fog.  You  could  see  it  rolling  up  like  a  white 
blanket  and  exposing  more  and  rnore  of  the  world. 
First  the  fishermen's  cabins  appeared,  with  blue  smoke 
pouring  from  every  chimney;  only  that  sloven  thev 
called  the  Masthead  Light  had  not  yet  got  a  fire  under 

194 


THE  FEAST  195 

her  kettle.  She  kept  house  for  a  fisherman  in  the 
last  cabin  to  the  north,  but  she  was  a  bad  one  at  get- 
ting out  of  the  sheets.  Then  the  harbor  cleared,  and 
one  or  two  boats  a  little  way  out,  and  the  sea  lay 
there,  fair  and  silvery  blue,  the  loveliest  shining  sur- 
face an  eye  could  see. 

The  innkeeper  was  already  on  his  way  to  the  har- 
bor; no  doubt  he  wanted  to  see  how  the  autumn  her- 
ring turned  out,  it  was  the  first  night  they  had  been 
out  drifting  for  them.  He  looked  blue  and  shrunken 
in  the  cold  of^the  morning  and  his  big  cheeks  had 
fallen  in  as  though  they  inclosed  some  monstrous  afflic- 
tion. They  all  knew  of  his  struggles  by  day,  so  im- 
mense and  incomprehensible  that  nobody  tried  to 
fathom  them;  and  Rasmus  Olsen's  Martha  was  quite 
capable  of  making  night  hideous  even  for  an  Ogre ! 

But  this  was  the  Day,  not  an  ordinary  day  like  any 
other,  but  The  Day,  when  nobody  worked  or  quar- 
reled over  the  food,  or  even  did  any  cooking,  but  sim- 
ply ate  and  drank  and  smoked  and  gossiped  until  swal- 
lowed up  by  the  night  and  the  sandhills.  The  grown-up 
people  knew  It  and  what  was  In  store  for  them;  as  long 
as  the  oldest  of  them  could  remember  the  autumn 
fe^st  had  been  the  great  compensation  for  the  other 
three  hundred  and  sixty-four  bitter  days  of  the  year, 
a  dav  In  paradise  when  all  want  and  privation  was  thor- 
oughly well  drowned  m  enting  and  drinking.  Its  suc- 
cess was  measured  quite  simply  by  the  number  of  men 
found  Iving  among  the  snnd-dunes  and  the  number  of 
women  and  children  who  hnd  the  stomach-nche  next 
day.     Originally  it  had  been  a  thanksgiving  festival 


196         DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

for  a  good  autumn  fishing,  but,  taught  by  experience 
of  the  uncertainty  of  all  earthly  things,  they  had  trans- 
ferred it  to  the  opening  of  the  fishing — so  as  to  make 
sure  of  the  spread  whichever  way  it  might  go.  Neither 
God  nor  the  innkeeper  could  come  and  take  back  the 
food  and  drink  that  had  once  been  swallowed,  how- 
ever arbitrarily  they  might  act  in  other  things. 

The  youngsters  had  never  known  what  an  autumn 
feast  was  like :  the  innkeeper  had  abolished  it  a  couple 
of  years  before  Lars  Peter  came  to  the  hamlet.  So 
their  expectations  were  all  the  greater. 

It  was  a  long  morning  for  the  children  of  the  ham- 
let; they  could  not  get  the  time  to  pass;  their  excite- 
ment kept  them  always  on  the  go,  driving  them  first 
to  one  thing,  then  to  another.  By  degrees  they  found 
their  way  to  the  feasting  ground,  where  the  workmen 
from  the  villa  were  laying  the  floor  for  dancing 
and  knocking  together  long  tables  out  of  rough  boards. 
The  place  was  a  fiat,  grass-grown  depression  among  the 
dunes.  On  one  side  a  little  sort  of  pulpit  was  raised, 
fenced  round  with  spruce  boughs;  that  was  where  the 
innkeeper  would  preach  and  where  the  music  would 
play  for  dancing. 

The  men  were  not  much  better  off  than  the  chil- 
dren. It  would  not  do  to  put  in  an  appearance  before 
two  o'clock,  and  that  was  a  long  way  off.  Rasmus 
Olsen  was  tramping  up  and  down  outside  his  cabin;  he 
was  in  his  shirt  and  knee-breeches  with  flaps.  One  of 
the  flaps  hung  down;  he  buried  his  hand  inside  it  as 
he  walked  chewing — and  spitting  out  black  jets  against 
the  wall.     He  was  dreaming  of  the  orgy  to  come  and 


THE  FEAST  197 

wondering  how  he  could  give  his  old  woman  the  slip 
when  she  tried  to  get  him  home.  They  were  all  loaf- 
ing about  among  the  huts,  yawning  at  the  sky  and 
looking  out  of  place.  It  was  no  use  thinking  of  sleep; 
besides,  they  were  not  going  to  sea  the  following  night 
so  there  would  be  lots  of  time  for  a  long  snooze. 

The  women  were  at  the  inn  during  the  forenoon, 
most  of  them,  helping  to  bake  fancy  bread,  to  draw 
beer  and  brandy,  and  to  carve  meat.  An  incredible 
mass  of  everything  had  been  provided;  nobody  could 
understand  how  the  innkeeper  had  managed  to  scrape 
it  all  together.  Bread  and  butter  and  fat  and  all  kinds 
of  meat  to  put  on  it — one  would  have  thought  there 
was  enough  food  for  a  whole  year.  The  innkeeper 
himself  was  looking  after  it  all — and  Martha!  She 
had  taken  charge  since  the  wife  died,  and  seemed  like 
a  wife  to  him  altogether,  or  nearly  so.  At  all  events, 
they  fought  as  only  married  folk  have  the  right  to  do 
and  snapped  at  each  other  viciously. 

On  the  stroke  of  two  all  the  inhabitants  of  the  ham- 
let were  collected.  They  stood  in  knots  round  about 
the  feasting  ground,  stiff  with  excitement  and  bashful- 
ness,  waiting  for  the  invitation.  Their  best  clothes, 
which  they  seldom  had  occasion  to  wear,  kept  them  in 
check  and  on  their  good  behavior;  when  any  of  the 
children  encroached  on  the  ground,  they  were  recalled 
with  solemn  gestures.  Lars  Peter  and  the  children 
stood  rather  in  the  background:  "We  ought  never  to 
push  ourselves  forward,"  he  said  admonishingly,  hold- 
ing them  back.  Sorine  had  not  come;  she  was  not  weU 
and  had  gone  to  bed;  and  Ditte  was  to  help  with  the 


198         DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

waiting.  She  stood  among  the  other  women  at  the 
serving-table  and  looked  quite  pleased  with  herself. 
Otherwise  everybody  was  here,  with  the  single  excep- 
tion of  the  old  people  from  "Gingerbread  House";  the 
wife  was  on  her  feet  again,  but  they  never  took  part 
in  anything.  Even  children  who  had  been  confirmed 
and  were  out  in  service,  had  begged  a  holiday  so  as 
to  be  at  the  feast.  Old  Lau,  the  fisherman,  who  had 
been  laid  up  with  rheumatism  the  last  year,  had  put 
in  an  appearance;  they  had  carried  him  out  and  laid 
him  in  the  grass  to  wait;  he  looked  like  a  piece  of 
potato-peel  in  the  sun,  all  shriveled  up  with  rheuma- 
tism. And  Fore-and-Aft-  Jakob  was  here  with  his 
blunderbuss. 

The  invitation  was  a  long  time  coming;  still  the 
innkeeper  did  not  appear.  At  last  a  boy  came  running 
up  from  the  house  and  said  something  to  Martha;  she 
went  up  to  the  groups  of  men  and  said: 

"Take  your  seats,  please!" 

It  was  quite  funny  to  sit  down  like  that  in  the  open 
air — a  whole  population !  From  the  end  of  the  table 
where  Lars  Peter  sat  with  the  children  you  could  sec 
down  the  whole  length  of  it,  over  stacks  of  cakes  and 
buns,  and  watch  the  women  on  both  sides  working 
their  way  along  with  the  coffee-pots. 

"We  shall  be  the  last!"  whispered  Sister  Else. 

"It'll  be  our  turn  presently,"  said  Lars  Peter  reas- 
suringly.     "Have  a  little  patience!" 

Then  Ditte  discovered  that  they  had  not  been  served 
yet  and  came  up  with  the  pot. 

"Look  at  Jakob,"  she  whispered  with  a  laugh  as  she 


THE  FEAST  199 

poured  out  for  hef  father.  Fore-and-Aft  Jakob  had 
pulled  a  whole  pil?,  of  coffee  buns  in  front  of  him- 
self; he  was  devouring  them  like  a  dog — with  one  side 
of  his  mouth — and  he  growled  when  any  one  else 
wanted  to  help  himself;  he  had  his  gun  between  his 
knees.  Old  Lau  they  had  also  managed  to  prop  up 
on  a  chair. 

There  were  at  least  a  hundred  people  and  there 
was  room  for  more  yet.  All  the  other  end  of  the 
table  was  empty  and  beyond  it  could  be  seen  the  fire 
with  the  huge  copper  pot  hanging  from  three  poles. 
Rasmus  Olsen's  wife  was  in  charge  of  the  coffee.  She 
stood  watching  the  pot  and  would  not  let  her  atten- 
tion be  taken  off  by  anything,  with  a  big  scoop  of 
ground  coffee  in  her  hand — at  least  a  pound.  The 
moment  the  water  came  to  the  boil,  she  shot  in  the  cof- 
fee with  a  sure  hand.  It  sank  to  the  bottom  and  took 
the  water  off  the  boil  for  an  instant.  Then  it  boiled 
up  again — and  now  was  the  time !  Quick  as  light- 
ning Madam  Olsen  dashed  three  flounders'  skins  into 
the  pot,  snatched  it  off  the  fire  and  straightened  her 
back,  while  the  sweat  poured  down  her  face.  "There  !" 
she  said — "that's  done  !"  Nobody  in  the  hamlet  could 
make  coffee  like  hers. 

When  the  first  three  or  four  cups  had  been  swal- 
lowed the  men  found  another  use  for  their  mouths; 
they  began  to  call  out  to  each  other. 

"Well,  how  goes  it,  Lars  Peter?  Have  you  got 
room  for  any  more  aboard?"  asked  Rasmus  Olsen. 

"It's  a  bit  easier  now — as  the  old  woman  said  when 
she  lost  her  breeches,"  Lars  Peter  answered. 


200        DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

Then  a  laugh  went  round  the  table  and  talk  was 
started — about  the  day's  weather,  and  the  weather  they 
had  for  the  feast  eight  years  before.  The  men  strad- 
dled over  the  benches  one  after  another  and  collected 
in  front  of  the  place  where  Fore-and-Aft  Jakob  was 
eating  as  greedily  as  ever.  He  had  long  ago  finished 
the  whole  pile,  but  those  sitting  near  kept  pushing  more 
buns  in  front  of  him.  There  was  nothing  wrong  with 
his  feeding  arrangements  anyhow!*  There  were  cigars 
on  the  side  table,  five  whole  boxes  of  them;  did  the 
women  intend  to  smoke  them  themselves?  Ah, 
now  Martha  remembered  and  brought  them 
round. 

"Take  two,"  she  said  to  make  up  for  her  neglect  to 
everybody.  At  any  rate  she  wasn't  stingy — for  it 
would  all  be  hers  one  day. 

Something  out  of  the  ordinary  had  to  be  done  in 
honor  of  the  day,  so  the  men  sauntered  slowly  down 
to  the  harbor  in  a  body;  they  looked  upon  it  as  a  sort 
of  excursion,  while  the  women  were  clearing  away  and 
laying  the  table  for  supper.  By  the  fire-engine  house 
they  met  the  innkeeper  talking  to  some  men  who  had 
a  sort  of  legal  look  about  them.  Perhaps  they  had 
come  to  settle  up  his  affairs;  at  any  rate  he  didn't  look 
very  pleased.  And  he  wouldn't  have  the  fishermen 
down  by  the  harbor. 

"You  ought  to  take  a  little  turn  inland  and  look  at 
the  new  plantation,"  he  said  as  he  passed  them;  "it'll 
give  you  an  appetite  for  supper." 

They  stopped  for  a  while  and  thought  it  over;  then 
wandered  In  among  the  dunes  to  take  a  nap.     As  to 


THE  FEAST  201 

tramping  off  anywhere  but  to  the  harbor,  that  would 
never  enter  their  heads. 

No  use  was  made  of  the  pulpit,  thanks  to  the  inn- 
keeper's unwelcome  visitors.  But  for  them  he  had  in- 
tended to  hold  a  meeting  with  hymns  and  preaching  be- 
tween the  two  meals.  But  now  nothing  was  seen  of 
him  the  whole  afternoon;  nor  did  he  appear  when  the 
real  feast  was  about  to  begin. 

The  workmen  from  the  villa  now  joined  the  party 
and  made  things  lively  at  once. 

"Let  us  big  boys  sit  at  one  end  of  the  table,"  they 
said  to  the  fishermen,  "then  the  bottles  won't  have  to 
run  their  legs  off  coming  round  to  us." 

That  started  a  bustle  of  changing  places,  and  it  was 
not  without  its  bits  of  fun.  The  Copenhageners  in- 
sisted on  having  one  of  their  men  among  the  children; 
he  hadn't  yet  lost  his  childish  ways,  they  declared.  And 
he  went  and  sat  there,  but  took  a  whole  bottle  of  brandy 
with  him,  hugged  it  and  caressed  it  to  the  great  delight 
of  the  youngsters  and  the  womenfolk.  The  end  of  it 
was  that  his  comrades  had  to  beg  him  to  come  back 
to  them. 

This  time  the  women  sat  down  with  the  rest — which 
made  the  whole  thing  more  festive.  They  were  kept 
laughing  at  the  Copenhageners  all  the  time ;  the  fisher- 
men, most  of  them,  had  no  idea  until  to-day  how  much 
humor  there  was  stored  up  in  the  womenfolk  they 
sulked  their  way  through  life  with — it  fairly  bubbled 
out  of  them  when  the  right  word  started  it.  And  they 
knew  how  to  hit  back  too!  The  Copenhageners  in- 
vented their  own  funny  nicknames  for  everything:  the 


202         DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

biggest  dish  of  sandwiches  they  called  Amager,  the  long 
roll  of  corned  beef  was  the  Roskilde  Road,  and  to  take 
a  dram  was  translated  as  bending  your  elbow.  The 
fishermen  they  called  watermen.  "Hullo,  waterman, 
shall  you  and  I  send  a  silent  thought  to  our  great- 
grandmother?"  they  said  when  they  wanted  to  clink 
glasses. 

They  were  no  good  at  finding  answers,  the  fishermen; 
Lars  Peter  was  the  only  one  who  could  give  them  any- 
thing back — he  was  a  bit  of  a  lad  himself !  When  the 
Copenhageners  called  him  "waterman"  he  retorted 
with  "beerman,"  and  that  joke  rang  the  bell — for  it 
could  not  be  denied  that  they  fetched  a  few  bottles 
down  from  the  inn  in  the  course  of  the  summer.  He 
was  in  fine  form  and  his  boisterous  laughter  rolled 
down  the  whole  table.  Ah,  it  was  a  great  time !  The 
table  was  crowded  with  dishes  all  the  way  along  and 
there  was  every  kind  of  dainty  with  snaps  and  beer 
flowing  like  water.  And  the  low  sun  shining  on  it  all, 
making  the  glasses  and  bottles  sparkle  and  lighting  up 
bright  eyes  in  flushed  faces. 

The  innkeeper  turned  up  just  when  things  were  at 
their  liveliest.  There  was  a  sudden  silence;  even  the 
Copenhageners  stopped  dead  when  they  saw  him.  He 
appeared  all  at  once  in  the  pulpit,  surveying  them,  with- 
out any  one  having  seen  him  come;  his  broad  shoulders 
just  showed  over  the  top  of  the  rail;  his  big  head  lay 
sunk  between  them  turning  continually  from  side  to 
side;  he  looked  like  some  queer  foreign  bird. 

"Well,  you're  .o:etting  on  all  right,  I  see,"  he  said, 
showing  his  horse's  teeth  in  a  cold  grin.     "Now  don't 


THE  FEAST  203 

disturb  yourselves.  You  were  done  out  of  the  sermon 
this  afternoon,  so  I  just  wanted  to  say  a  word  or  two  to 
you — now  I've  got  you  together.  You  don't  come  to 
meeting  very  often,  and  I  don't  blame  you  for  it.  I 
guess  you  think  you  sleep  better  at  home.  And  when 
you're  asleep  you  don't  sin,  the  saying  goes.  But  now 
we've  got  you  pretty  fast;  if  the  food  won't  keep  you 
here,  the  bottles'll  manage  It  all  right;  you  won't  run 
away  from  God's  word  to-day. 

"But  I  suppose  you  think  God's  word  ought  to  be 
given  you  by  a  man  of  God,  and  your  Idea  Is  that  I'm  a 
hell  of  a  fellow.  There's  mad  Jakob  going  about  aim- 
ing at  him  with  his  loaded  gun,  you  say  to  yourselves. 
But  I'll  let  you  Into  a  secret;  Jakob's  gun  won't  go  off — 
there  isn't  any  lock  to  it.  I  sold  him  the  gun  myself 
when  I  heard  he  wanted  to  shoot  me.  You  may  just 
as  well  make  the  profit  as  any  one  else,  1  thought,  and 
passed  ofiF  an  old  gun  on  him.  That's  the  whole  secret! 
But  I  can  tell  you  another  story  about  a  gun  and  a  hell 
of  a  fellow.  One  evening  I  was  out  duck-shooting  here 
to  the  south  and  I  met  Old  Nick  himself,  he  had  horns 
on  his  forehead  and  snorted  fire  out  of  his  nostrils — 
something  very  different  from  a  poor  misshapen  Ogre. 
I  suppose  you  think  he'd  come  to  fetch  me?  Not  a 
bit  of  It — he  only  chatted  about  this,  that  and  the  other 
— when  he  could  take  one  of  you  and  when  he'd  come 
for  another.  'What's  that  you've  got  there?'  says  he 
and  takes  hold  of  my  double-barrelled  gun.  'That's  a 
tobacco  pipe,'  I  say.  He  wanted  to  try  how  it  smoked, 
so  I  let  him  take  both  barrels  In  his  mouth  and  fired. 
But  Old  Nick  sneezed  and  said,  'That's  strong  tobacco 


204        DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

you  smoke.'  Well,  that's  what  I  call  a  hell  of  a  fellow 
to  stand  fire.  As  for  Jakob  here,  why,  he  paid  for  it 
with  his  last  small  savings.  If  anybody  deserves  to  be 
called  a  hell  of  a  fellow,  it's  me  for  not  turning  a  hair 
when  I  sold  it  him. 

"But  have  you  ever  seen  the  Ogre  turn  a  hair? 
You've  seen  him  take  your  daily  bread  with  one  hand 
and  give  it  you  back  with  the  other;  you  remembered 
the  one  and  forgot  the  other — and  that's  how  it  always 
is.  He  might  have  kept  his  fingers  to  himself,  you 
think,  what  did  he  want  with  us? — Ah,  what  did  I 
want  with  you? 

"I  wanted  to  exploit  you,  and  I  did  it  as  well  as  1 
could — as  is  the  duty  of  man  to  exploit  what  lies  to  his 
hand  and  make  the  earth  subject  to  himself.  You  didn't 
like  it,  but  do  you  think  the  horse  likes  drawing  the  cart 
or  the  sheep  being  sheared?  They  want  their  fodder, 
but  they  don't  want  to  do  anything  for  it. 

"Ah,  but  we're  men,  you  think — or  perhaps  you 
don't  even  think  that?  Scarcely,  I  should  say — and 
then  can  you  expect  others  to  think  so?  Man  is  made 
in  God's  image,  we  are  told.  Do  you  think  /  was? — I 
should  guess  God  would  rather  be  excused.  That 
makes  you  laugh — but  if  you  are  the  ones  that  are  made 
in  God's  image,  I  should  almost  think  it  was  worse. 

"Get  angry  if  you  like.  If  I  didn't  know  it  was  the 
brandy  that  had  put  your  bristles  up,  I  could  almost 
respect  you. 

"Let  me  tell  you  one  thing  before  I  go,  and  don't 
take  offense  at  it — the  Lord  forgot  something  when  he 
created  you.    If  he  breathed  the  breath  of  life  into  you, 


THE  FEAST  205 

he  must  have  done  it  at  the  wrong  end,  or  else  I  don't 
see  how  you  could  be  so  dull.  You  complained  now  and 
then  when  the  harness  chafed  you,  but  you  settled  down 
to  it;  so  you  deserved  nothing  better.  And  don't 
you  think  you  liked  your  slavery  after  all?  It's  easier 
to  get  your  food  chewed  for  you  than  to  chew  it  your- 
self. I've  chewed  for  all  of  you;  that's  what  my  teeth 
are  for;  but  what  have  you  done?  There  isn't  one  of 
you  that's  got  a  bite  in  him.  I've  thought  time  and 
again :  how  can  they  stand  it — why  don't  they  send  you 
to  blazes?  But  you're  always  ready  to  lick  the  hand 
that  strikes  you — there  isn't  a  man  among  you — unless 
it's  Lars  Peter,  but  he's  too  soft,  he  is;  you  can  turn 
him  round  if  you  get  him  by  the  heart. 

"And  now  I'm  going  to  thank  you  for  what's  past, 
for  I  reckon  we've  finished  with  one  another  now. 
You  made  it  hard  for  me — ^by  making  it  too  easy.  It 
takes  a  man  to  drive  a  pair  of  horses,  and  he  has  to 
look  after  the  reins  all  the  time,  but  with  you — we've 
only  got  to  give  you  a  push  and  you  go  on  all  your  lives 
— slow  enough,  to  be  sure.  You're  the  tamest  beasts  of 
burden  I've  ever  had  to  deal  with,  one  could  drive  you 
with  a  broomstick.  But  what  do  you  care?  That's 
where  you've  been  able  to  beat  me,  you've  won  by  your 
sleepiness.  Now  I'm  going  to  follow  your  example  and 
see  if  a  little  sleep  won't  do  me  good.  Good  luck  to 
you  all!" 

They  were  all  pretty  sheepish  after  the  inn-keeper 
had  gone. 

"That  was  a  bit  over  the  top,"  said  Lars  Peter  sud- 
denly— "he  gave  it  us  this  time !" 


2o6        DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

That  released  the  tension. 

"Yes,  he  roughed  you  up  a  bit,"  said  the  Copen- 
hageners.    "But,  my  word,  what  a  jaw  that  man's  got!" 

The  sun  was  about  to  set;  they  were  hanging  about 
waiting  for  the  music  to  start  dancing.  Karl  had  fin- 
ished his  work;  he  and  Ditte  were  walking  and  chatting 
arm  in  arm  near  the  scene  of  the  feast.  A  lot  of  young 
people  had  come  in  from  the  farms  round  about  to  get 
a  dance ;  Lars  Peter  ran  into  Sine  from  the  Hill  Farm. 

"So  you  haven't  lost  your  blessed  red  cheeks  yet,"  he 
said  gaily,  "You're  just  the  girl  I  want  to  hop  round 
with." 

The  young  people  got  impatient  and  sent  some  one 
up  to  the  inn  to  fetch  the  fiddler.  He  did  not  come  back 
and  another  one  was  sent.  At  last  somebody  came  run- 
ning down  the  hollow  way,  a  young  fellow  from  one  of 
the  farms. 

"There  won't  be  any  dance,"  he  shouted  open- 
mouthed — "the  Inn-keeper's  shot  himself!  He  took 
both  barrels  In  his  mouth  and  pulled  the  trigger  with 
his  big  toe.  His  brains  are  scattered  all  over  the 
ceiling." 

There  was  a  shriek,  a  single  short  sharp  scream; 
Lars  Peter  knew  the  sound  and  started  to  run.  Ditte 
lay  writhing  In  the  grass — wailing;  Karl  was  bending 
over  her.  Lars  Peter  took  her  up  in  his  arms  and 
carried  her  home. 


CHAPTER  XIX 


DITTE  lay  on  the  top  of  the  bed  moaning  with 
closed  eyes.     Round  about  her  they  were  run- 
ning in  and  out,  in  and  out.    Now  and  then  she 
felt  a  cold  sweaty  trembling  hand  on  her  forehead — 
it  was  Karl's. 

"Go  in  to  Mother,"  she  whispered.  "Oh — oh  !"  and 
then  she  sent  a  long  piercing  shriek  out  into  the  summer 
nigiit.  Why  were  they  all  running  about  and  tramping 
so  heavily — and  why  was  she  being  tortured?  Through 
her  half-closed  eyelids  she  could  see  all  that  was  going 
on  in  the  living-room.  The  women  were  running  back- 
wards and  forwards  in  there,  putting  down  one  thing 
and  taking  up  another — and  tramping.  Her  mother 
would  get  no  peace,  poor  woman.  But  Karl  must  be 
sitting  in  there  with  her:  it  was  silly  of  him  to  keep 
coming  in  and  out  of  the  lying-in  room,  making  a  fool 
of  himself  before  all  the  women.  He  ought  to  be  sit- 
ting by  her  mother's  bed,  that's  where  he  ought  to  be, 
holding  her  hand,  and  seeing  that  she  didn't  get  snuffed 
out  like  a  candle.  Oh  no!  Ditte  opened  her  mouth 
wide.  She  did  not  hear  her  own  shrieks,  but  she  heard 
every  other  sound :  somebody  running  round  the  corner 
in  wooden  shoes,  somebody  else  bringing  a  chair  Into 
the  room.  It  was  the  midwife's  chair  of  the  hamlet,  she 
knew  it  well  from  Lars  Jensen's  widow's  cottage,  where 

207 


2o8         DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

it  was  kept.  It  was  very  broad  and  quite  short  in  the 
seat;  the  children  had  taken  it  for  a  bench. 

"The  rack,"  was  what  Lars  Jensen's  widow  had 
called  it.  She  was  present  at  every  childbirth,  though 
she  had  never  had  any  children  of  her  own ;  where  the 
rack  went,  she  went  too.  There  was  her  voice,  just 
over  Ditte's  head.  "Come  on,  my  girl,"  she  said, 
"we'll  get  it  over  in  a  jiffy." 

Then  they  dragged  her  on  to  the  rack  and  propped 
her  up.  Her  feet  were  put  on  the  cross-bars  and  her 
knees  stretched  right  out  till  they  rested  against  the 
arms  of  the  chair.  They  held  her  by  the  knees  and 
Lars  Jensen's  widow  stood  behind  pressing  her  hips. 

"There,"  she  said,  "now  for  it." 

And  Ditte  set  up  a  piercing  shriek. 

"That's  right,"  they  said,  laughing,  "they  could  hear 
that  right  up  at  the  Hill  Farm." 

Ditte  couldn't  understand;  she  had  heard  quite 
plainly  the  little  clock  strike  two  in  the  middle  of  her 
pangs — and  why  did  they  say  the  Hill  Farm  ? 

"Now,  then — here  it  comes  again!"  exclaimed  Lars 
Jensen's  widow.  And  Ditte  yielded  as  to  a  word  of 
command.  Oh,  but  why  were  they  torturing  her? 
What  had  she  done?  She  cried  to  heaven  in  her  woe, 
groaning  and  wailing,  crushed  and  maltreated  by  fright- 
ful torments. 

"This  is  the  nasty  part,"  the  women  said,  laughing: 
"you've  got  to  pay  for  your  pleasure." 

Oh,  but  no,  no,  no !  The  pleasure  of  sin,  what  was 
it?  What  had  she  done  but  her  duty,  always  her  duty? 
And  now  she  was  to  be  punished  with  the  torments  of 


DITTE  PAYS  209 

hell;  they  seized  her  with  red-hot  pincers  and  gave  an- 
other turn  to  the  rack,  and  when  she  gnashed  her  teeth 
and  screamed  like  a  wild  beast  they  laughed  and  said, 
"More  still !"  A  thousand  devils  had  hold  of  her,  there 
were  flames  before  her  eyes. 

And  suddenly  it  all  vanishes  and  she  hears  Karl  talk- 
ing to  her  mother  in  his  slow,  drawling  way,  about  life 
here  and  the  life  hereafter;  and  she  thinks  with  glad- 
ness that  it  is  a  good  thing  he  has  come  to  live  with 
them,  for  now  her  mother  has  somebody  who  under- 
stands her.  She  can  talk  to  him;  with  him  she  seems  to 
slip  away,  farther  and  farther  away.. 

But  now  her  eyes  see  something  beautiful,  a  new 
light  has  come  into  them.  And  it  is  Karl  who  has 
brought  it. 

And  suddenly  it  comes  back  again;  everything  falls 
upon  her,  she  is  crushed  and  mangled  among  fragments 
of  a  collapsing  world. 

"There  now!"  says  a  voice;  "we  got  over  that  very 
nicely."  A  child's  voice  screams,  and  Ditte  sinks  quite 
softly  into  an  abyss. 

When  she  woke  again,  the  sun  was  shining  in  on 
her  and  she  lay  in  a  white  bed  with  hem-stitched  sheets, 
and  there  were  white  frills  on  her  wrists  and  neck.  Her 
pale  red  hair  lay  over  her  night-dress;  one  of  the 
women  had  been  brushing  it  and  stood  by  with  the 
brush  in  her  hand,  saying: 

"It's  quite  pretty  after  all,  the  girl's  hair  is;  you 
never  noticed  that  before,  because  it  was  plaited." 

The  pleated  border  of  the  pillow  stood  out  round 
her  head,  and  in  her  arm  lay  a  little  red  object — a 


2IO        DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

human  bundle.  She  looked  at  it  with  strange  and  indif- 
ferent eyes,  while  Karl  stood  by  the  bed  weeping  with 
joy  about  some  meaningless  thing  or  other. 

"But  you're  alive !"  he  said. 

Yes,  of  course  she  was  alive ;  what  else  should  she  be  ? 

Then  Lars  Peter  came  rushing  in ;  he  had  been  at  the 
inn  to  ask  them  to  have  a  trap  ready — a  matter  of  life 
and  death.  He  took  the  baby  from  her  and  held  it  up 
to  the  light. 

"Oh,  what  a  lovely  little  sprig  of  humanity!"  he  said 
with  warmth  and  feeling  in  his  voice.  "You  might  let 
me  have  him." 

Then  for  the  first  time  Ditte  understood  that  it  was 
a  real  living  child  she  had  got,  and  she  reached  out  for 
the  little  one. 


PURGATORY 


CHAPTER  XX 
WHY  DOESN'T  THE  LASS  GET  MARRIED? 

DITTE  came  out  of  the  door  of  the  "poor  house" 
with  her  baby  in  her  arms.  For  a  minute  she 
stood  sniffing  at  the  fresh  air  as  if  considering 
things,  then  she  ventured  over  the  threshold,  and  took 
her  away  towards  the  old  pensioners'  house.  The 
women  came  to  their  doors  in  all  the  cottages  round 
about.  So  she  was  visible  once  again !  Hussies  who 
had  their  babies  on  the  wrong  side  of  the  blanket  had 
an  easy  time  of  it!  Other  women  had  to  wait  before 
they  showed  their  faces  abroad  until  they  had  been 
churched  and  cleansed  from  all  defilement  and  the 
smirch  of  sin  at  the  Lord's  altar.  But  of  course  those 
low  rag  and  bone  folk  were  put  above  those  who  went 
to  church — and  possibly  it  was  only  the  marriage  bed 
that  was  defiled!  People  could  almost  believe  it  when 
they  saw  how  obstinately  the  hussy  strove  against  lying 
in  it! 

But  it  was  interesting  to  see  this  child-mother,  who, 
as  far  back  as  they  could  remember,  had  dragjjed  a 
youngster  about  with  her,  now  walking  off  with  her 
own — still  half  a  child  herself!  It  seemed  as  if  she 
had  been  obliged  to  get  one  of  her  own  to  keep  her 
hand  in,  when  her  brothers  and  sisters  grew  big.  She 
looked  all  right  again  too!  Her  hair  stood  out  about 
the  little  round  head,  and  caught  the  light;  her  warm 

213 


214        DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

blood  tingled  under  the  lightly  freckled  skin,  still  soft 
and  transparent  after  childbirth,  and  blossomed  forth 
into  roses  at  the  least  provocation.  The  hussy — a 
man's  kisses  and  handling  had  in  no  way  spoilt  her 
looks.    It  well  became  her  to  be  a  young  mother ! 

But  an  absurd  figure  she  cut  too — the  stuck-up  chit ! 
Not  only  did  she  go  and  have  a  child,  which  was  not 
such  a  difficult  thing  to  do  after  all;  but  she  was  in  the 
uncommon  position  of  having  a  father  for  it!  Then 
why  on  earth  wouldn't  she  marry  him  ?  It  was  no  doubt 
Rasmus  Olsen's  Martha  that  began  the  infection,  she 
was  in  the  habit  of  turning  her  claws  on  her  beloved, 
like  a  cat!  The  boy  was  now  nearly  a  couple  of 
months ;  it  was  none  too  soon  to  hold  him  over  the  font 
— it  never  did  to  give  the  Evil  One  more  of  a  hold  on 
a  child  than  necessary.  And  so  convenient  too,  to  have 
held  the  wedding  and  christening  at  the  same  time — a 
double  event,  as  you  might  say.  But  counsel  and  advice 
were  not  wanted  here!  Inmates  of  "the  poor  house" 
were  quite  grand  people — they  didn't  need  to  borrow  a 
bag  before  they  went  a-begging. 

It  was  really  strange  that  the  old  couple  continued  to 
patronize  Ditte — they  who  were  otherwise  too  select 
to  rub  shoulders  with  other  folks.  You  could  almost 
call  it  encouraging  vice !  Yes,  she  had  better  cards  In 
her  hand  than  most  people,  but  did  she  as  much  as  say 
*'Thank  you"  for  that?  The  only  one  In  the  house 
vv^ho  had  liked  Karl  was  the  murderess  Sorine;  and  no 
sooner  was  she  dead  than  he  packed  up  and  disap- 
peared. As  was  only  natural,  no  one  ever  heard 
from  him. 


WHY  DOESN'T  SHE  GET  MARRIED?   215 

It  was  certainly  a  peculiar  Idea  to  drive  away  a  per- 
son whom  Fate  had  once  for  all  marked  out  for  one. 
She  could  never  be  really  free  of  him,  however  much 
she  might  struggle  and  strive, — who  had  ever  heard  of 
folk  here  on  earth  running  away  from  their  own?  And 
it  had  left  proper  traces  on  her  too!  He  was  a  queer 
fish  though,  of  course — neither  played  cards  nor 
danced,  and  never  went  to  a  pub  either.  But  then  he 
had  other  good  points.  At  any  rate  he  was  a  man, 
right  enough!  And  a  farmer's  son  into  the  bargain! 
It  looked  pretty  bad  for  a  penniless  rag  and  bone 
man's  daughter, — a  love-child  at  that, — to  turn  up 
her  nose  at  a  farmer's  son, — especially  when  she  had 
unloosened  her  girdle  for  him.  Anybody  else  would 
have  thanked  their  God  if  the  man  had  condescended 
to  them  at  all  in  such  circumstances. 

Ditte  saw  their  heads  clustered  round  about  the 
doors,  and  knew  to  a  "T"  what  they  were  gossiping 
about.  But  they  could  just  talk!  She  knew  her  own 
mind,  and  she  had  both  her  father  and  the  old  couple 
in  the  "Gingerbread  House"  to  back  her  up.  The  old 
wife  had  called  Lars  Peter  to  her  sick-bed,  and  laid 
strict  commands  on  him  never  to  aggravate  Ill-luck  into 
possible  misery  by  letting  Ditte  marry  Karl.  How- 
ever, there  was  no  danger  of  It,  for  on  that  point  Lars 
Peter  was  just  as  crazy  as  the  girl.  If  she  didn't  want 
to  go  to  the  altar,  he  would  be  the  very  last  to  drag 
her  there.  What  she  really  had  against  Karl  as  mat- 
ters now  stood,  he  did  not  quite  understand;  but  per- 
haps it  was  something  she  had  inherited  from  both  So- 
nne and  himself.    Neither  of  the  two  families  had  been 


2i6        DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

especially  noted  for  their  eagerness  to  run  to  the 
church, — yet  in  spite  of  it,  they  had  borne  children  with 
God's  blessing,  had  got  on  well  together,  and  had  bided, 
faithfully  side  by  side  until  the  last.  He  forgot — now 
as  ever — that  he  was  not  really  Ditte's  father. 

He  did  not  feel  any  pride  in  her  connection  with  a 
farmer's  son  either.  Karl  was  too  effeminate  for  him, 
and  the  farmer  in  him  did  not  appeal  to  Lars  Peter. 
He  had  never  been  able  to  understand  Sorine  here  with 
her  eternal  ambition  to  rise  to  the  farmer  class.  He 
and  his  had  nothing  to  thank  the  farmer  class  for;  like 
a  strange  sort  of  bird  among  the  others  his  kin  had 
always  been  hated  and  persecuted  for  their  dark  rest- 
less traits.  They  had  got  their  own  back  when  and 
where  they  could,  through  generations,  as  hangmen, 
witches  and  tramps.  Folk  hurled  them  forth  into  the 
night — and  they  returned — in  league  with  the  unholy 
Powers  of  Darkness.  They  always  brought  the  spirit 
of  unrest  into  the  peaceful  countryside,*  and  with  it  laAV- 
lessness  and  passion.  People  never  knevv'  where  to 
have  them.  They  disturbed  and  robbed  poultry-yards 
and  sheep-folds,  brought  knives  into  peaceful  dance 
gatherings,  and  now  and  then  their  raven  locks  made 
even  the  most  virtuous  spouse  waver  in  her  allegiance. 
For  that  alone  they  were  cordially  detested  by  the 
farmers. 

That  side  of  Lars  Peter  had  burnt  itself  out  long 
ago — the  comparatively  small  share  of  it  that  he  had 
inherited.  It  had  passed  with  his  youth  and  early  man- 
hood; since  he  had  seen  his  wife  and  four  children — all 
that  he  held  dear  here  on  earth,  lying  wet  and  cold  in  a 


WHY  DOESN'T  SHE  GET  MARRIED?   217 

row  by  the  well  side,  he  ran  amuck  no  more.  Yet  there 
had  been  a  tinie  later  on — a  senseless  year  or  two  as  a 
sailor,  but  it  had  glided  out  of  his  memory  leaving 
practically  no  trace.  The  only  vestiges  were  the  tend- 
ency to  vagabondage — which  came  to  the  surface  again 
in  him.  The  farmers  knew  this  characteristic  of  his  and 
placed  him  accordingly. 

That  did  not  matter,  Lars  Peter  had  no  ambitions  in 
that  quarter.  In  his  eyes  the  farmer  appeared  a 
creature  most  deserving  of  pity — a  blind  mole  feeling 
and  knowing  nothing  outside  of  his  own  hole  in  the 
earth.  Despised  and  outcast  though  he  was,  he  more 
or  less  looked  down  on  the  whole  farmer  class. 
No,  he  did  not  feel  at  all  honored  by  such  a  con- 
nection. 

Kristian  was  now  on  a  farm  about  three  miles  off 
and  helped  with  the  work;  he  went  to  school  from 
there.  And  it  was  the  same  old  story — they  could 
never  get  enough  out  of  him.  He  never  got  time  to 
come  home,  and  had  to  learn  his  lessons  on  the  way 
to  school,  and  to  run  all  the  way  too.  Farmers  were 
all  alike,  at  all  times  1 

Ditte  did  not  expect  Lars  Peter  to  force  her  inclina- 
tions;— he  felt  himself  to  be  quite  as  much  a  grand- 
father to  an  illegitimate  brat,  as  possible  father-in-law 
to  a  farmer's  son. 

Ditte  had  got  the  old  woman  up  while  she  made  her 
bed  and  washed  and  tidied  her.  Now  she  sat  in  the 
cane  chair  by  the  bedside  and  gave  her  little  one  the 
breast.  The  old  woman  lay  on  her  back  and  dozed,  she 
was  tired  out  after  being  got  up.     She  had  not  much 


2i8         DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

strength  left;  only  having  her  hair  done  or  another 
nightdress  put  on  made  her  absolutely  collapse.  She 
had  not  long  to  live,  her  life  was  ebbing  day  by  day. 
But  she  was  gentle  and  mild  and  full  of  thoughtfulness 
for  others ;  what  would  become  of  the  old  man  when  he 
no  longer  had  her? 

Ditte  was  resting  peacefully.  Her  mind  was  full  of 
vague  questions  that  needed  no  answer.  She  was  tired 
and  it  was  pleasant  to  sit  thus  half  asleep  and  feel  the 
milk  flowing  into  her  breast  and  up  to  the  nipple.  The 
boy  was  a  perfect  little  glutton.  ...  It  was  all  she 
could  do  to  keep  him  supplied  with  food.  And  the 
least  thing  made  her  tired  and  sleepy.  He  drank  with 
long  rhythmic  gulps,  and  had  a  quaint  meditative  ex- 
pression in  his  little  eyeS' — rather  like  Karl  when  re- 
ligiously inclined.  So  he  himself  lay  and  listened 
for  sounds. 

The  old  woman  opened  her  eyes.  "How  hard  he 
works,"  said  she,  smiling,  "like  a  little  pump !" 

"He  always  takes  it  like  that,  when  he  really  likes  It. 
He  would  like  to  suck  it  in  through  his  ears  too !" 

"I  shall  never  know  what  that  feels  like.  The  Lord 
could  not  have  thought  us  fitted  to  have  children,"  said 
the  old  woman. 

"Very  likely  you  were  too  tidy,"  answered  Ditte 
thoughtfully,  "it  wouldn't  be  amusing  to  be  a  child  in  a 
house  where  you  can't  do  this,  and  mustn't  do  that 
either.  But  you  wouldn't  have  had  such  a  peaceful  time 
all  the  same." 

The  sick  woman  laughed  heartily. 

"Do  you  think  so?    But  perhaps  we  shouldn't  have 


WHY  DOESN'T  SHE  GET  MARRIED?   219 

been  so  tidy  if  we  had  had  children  to  bring  a  little 
untidiness  into  our  life.  We  would  gladly  have  sacri- 
ficed a  little  of  the  peacefulness." 

"But  they  bring  a  lot  of  sorrow,"  said  Ditte  seri- 
ously. "Look  at  father;  how  much  trouble  he  has  had 
through  me." 

"I  think  he  has  had  much  joy  too,"  answered  the  old 
woman,  and  reached  after  her  hand.  "The  sorrow  you 
have  given  him  till  now,  I  would  gladly  have  borne  for 
the  sake  of  a  daughter,  and  I  think  father  would  say  the 
same.  We  have  never  had  anything  but  each  other, 
and  we  must  be  thankful  for  that,  even  if  we  are  a  little 
selfish  and  study  our  own  comfort,  and  find  our  happi- 
ness in  having  things  nice." 

Every  minute  the  old  man  came  slouching  into  the 
room  and  sat  down  by  the  bed.  He  said  nothing,  but 
held  his  v/ife's  hand  a  moment.  Then  he  suddenly  let 
go;  went  away  and  gazed  meditatively  at  the  clock  and 
slouched  out  again.  Outside  they  could  hear  his  steps 
going  constantly  to  and  fro;  it  was  wonderful  what  he 
could  find  to  be  so  busy  about.  "He's  like  that  all  the 
time,"  said  the  woman,  "so  busy,  so  busy.  He  has  no 
time  to  sit  with  me,  and  yet  he  can't  let  me  lie;  so  he 
runs  to  and  fro  continually.  He  calls  it  making  things 
tidy,  although  everything  has  been  in  its  place  as  long 
back  as  I  can  call  to  mind.  He  can  be  up  in  the  loft  all 
day  long,  messing  about,  and  he  has  never  finished;  he 
has  the  feeling  that  we  shall  soon  leave  here." 

Ditte  sat  meditating  a  little.  "Why  do  you  always 
say  'we'?"  she  asked  at  last. 

The  old  lady  looked  uncomprehendingly  at  her. 


220        DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

"Yes,  for  people  don't  die  both  together,  suddenly." 

"Oh!  Is  that  what  you  mean?  You  are  surprised 
that  I  always  count  Father  in  everything.  But  you 
will  come  to  understand  it  one  day,  for  I  hope  that  you 
too  will  find  one  for  whom  you  can  wear  yourself  right 
out,  and  come  to  dwell  entirely  in  him.  Perhaps  our 
life  has  not  been  of  much  use;  we  haven't  done  much 
upon  earth  when  looked  at  like  that.  If  people  really 
live  to  labor  and  till  the  earth,  we. shall  go  before  our 
Maker  with  empty  hands.  We  have  brought  forth 
nothing:  on  the  contrary,  we  have  consumed  what 
others  have  left  to  us.  But  we  have  been  good  to  each 
other  and  not  thought  of  ourselves,  but  lived  one  for 
the  other.  And  it  has  been  a  beautiful  thing  to  know 
that  you  do  not  need  to  think  about  yourself,  for  an- 
other will  take  all  that  trouble  from  you.  He  who  can 
confide  his  weal  and  woe  to  another  is  in  good  hands; 
thus  each  one  grows  into  the  other's  being  and  they 
become  inseparable.  We  have  but  little  to  say  to  each 
other,  for  we  think  the  same  thoughts,  and  at  night  we 
often  dream  the  same  dreams  also." 

"When  I  am  asleep,  I  can  feel  if  Povl  or  As  have 
kicked  off  the  clothes,"  said  Ditte  seriously,  "Then  I 
have  no  rest  before  I  wake  myself,  and  get  up  and 
cover  him  again." 

"Yes,  you  are  a  good  lass !  We  shall  miss  you,  all 
of  us,  that  you  may  be  sure." 

"Sister  Else  will  come  every  day  and  lend  you  a 
hand;  she  is  a  clever  girl  for  her  age." 

The  old  woman  lay  drumming  her  fingers  on  the 
quilt.     "Karl  is  not  quite  so  bad  as  he  is  made  out,  so 


WHY  DOESN'T  SHE  GET  MARRIED?   221 

far  as  one  can  judge,"  said  she  suddenly.  "He  has  sent 
money,  you  say?" 

"But  we  don't  Icnow  where  it  comes  from.  He  had 
better  stop  writing.  I  have  nothing  against  him — he  is 
really  good  and  kind.  But  I  can't  bear  to  think  of  his 
making  love  to  me ;  it  makes  me  feel  quite  sick !" 

"Perhaps  that's  your  punishment  because  he  didn't 
misuse  you  from  love.  Sometimes  when  I  look  round 
the  world  I  think  that  we  Vv/omen  are  there  just  for  that, 
and  that  it  is  better  to  be  misused,  as  it  is  called,  than  to 
live  a  barren  life.  We  don't  fall  tc  pieces  when  a  man 
takes  hold  of  us  as  much  as  people  cry  out  we  do. 
There's  a  lot  of  hypocrisy  about  and  we  women  like  to 
make  ourselves  out  more  fragile  than  we  are.  1  should 
think  you  could  be  well  rewarded  for  it  all  by  living 
your  life  at  Karl's  side;  he  is  not  an  every-day  person. 
He  has  only  started  badly,  but  happiness  can  be  built 
up  in  so  many  ways.  And  now  he  cares  for  you,  that 
you  may  be  sure  of." 

"But  I  don't  care  for  him — not  a  bit,"  replied  Ditte 
hastily.     "He  is  so  silly." 

The  old  woman  patted  her  hand.  "Yes,  yes,  now 
you  have  your  boy,  so  there  is  no  reason  to  waste  any 
more  tears  on  the  matter.  But  when  you  come  out  into 
the  world  you  will  find  that  men  are  often  silly,  and 
that  Karl  is  not  just  like  them.  Now  let  us  see  if  you 
can  look  out  for  yourself  when  you  meet  them  in  their 
fine  clothes.  And  now  you  had  better  go,  for  I  want  to 
rest  a  little." 

"Shan't  1  get  the  supper  ready  first?" 

"No,  Father  can  do  that  all  right.    He  must  have  a 


222        DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

little  to  be  busy  with.  But  let  me  kiss  your  boy 
properly,  before  you  go  away  with  him." 

Ditte  laid  the  child  in  the  old  woman's  arms.  "It  is 
strange  that  such  a  little  being  seems  to  say  more  to 
us  than  one  who  has  a  long  life  behind  him.  And  it 
has  never  thought  a  single  thought  yet,  and  smells  all 
over  of  milk.  Life  comes  to  you  clean  and  appetizing 
when  you  have  a  baby,  and  yet  we  hear  that  man  is 
born  in  sin.  It  is  difficult  to  understand.  But  go  now 
before  he  begins  to  scream.  And  good  luck  and  happi- 
ness be  with  you  both." 

"I  will  come  back  again  and  say  a  proper  'good-bye* 
before  I  start,"  said  Ditte  and  bent  over  the  bed  to  take 
the  boy. 

"No,  let  this  rather  be  our  'good-bye';  it  is  so  hard 
to  part.  And  I  will  tell  you  now,  child,  that  I  thank 
God  for  having  met  you.  You  have  made  father  and  me 
richer;  it  is  due  to  you  that  we  have  come  to  believe  in 
the  world  again."  She  had  taken  Ditte  by  the  cheek. 
"Father  says  you  have  a  heart  of  gold.  May  you  get 
on  all  right  in  the  world  with  that !  Think  a  little  of 
yourself  as  well;  one  is  obliged  to  in  a  world  where 
most  of  us  only  think  of  ourselves."  She  kissed  her 
once  more  and  pushed  her  away,  Ditte  did  not  under- 
stand much  of  these  words;  but  she  grasped  the  gravity 
of  the  farewell,  and  cried  a  little  on  the  homeward 
way.  The  old  woman  had  been  as  a  mother  to  her  in 
that  difficult  time;  the  best  and  dearest  of  mothers! 
And  now  she  was  treading  the  same  path  that  Granny 
had  trod — there  where  neither  tears  nor  appeals  could 
reach  her.    Who  would  keep  Ditte's  spirits  up  now  and 


WHY  DOESN'T  SHE  GET  MARRIED?   223 

tell  her,  that  in  spite  of  everything  that  had  happened, 
she  was  a  good  little  woman? 

Lars  Peter  had  pulled  up  just  outside  the  house  and 
was  busied  in  unharnessing.  He  had  got  hold  of  some 
old  harness — just  then  for  hire,  and  was  driving  about 
hawking  herrings  again.  Old  rubbish  which  he  had 
gathered  up  in  his  rounds  of  the  farms,  lay  at  the  back 
of  the  cart.  He  had  stabled  the  horse  and  cart  in 
Widow  Doriom's  deserted  rooms,  and  grazed  the  horse 
in  the  hollows  of  the  dunes.  Now  there  was  no  inn- 
keeper to  come  spying  and  forbid  him  these  poverty- 
stricken  expedients. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  he  asked;  alarmed  at  Ditte's 
tear-stained  face;  "there  is  nothing  wrong  with  the 
baby,  is  there?" 

"I  have  been  over  to  the  old  people,"  said  Ditte  and 
hurried  in  to  get  out  of  further  explanations.  She  could 
not  bear  to  think  of  it,  much  less  to  speak  of  it.  She 
gave  the  baby  to  Else  and  began  to  warm  her  father's 
supper.  He  was  always  very  hungry  when  he  came 
home  from  his  rounds.  It  was  not  like  the  old  days, 
when  there  was  a  good  deal  of  food  about  on  the  farms. 
Now  they  had  become  stingy.  Everything  had  to  be 
sold  and  turned  into  money. 

Ditte  could  not  understand  who  bought  all  the  food 
the  farmers  produced:  anyhow  not  much  of  it  came 
their  way !  She  had  put  a  little  bit  of  pork  into  the  fish 
pie  which  had  been  set  aside  for  Father  from  dinner, 
and  that  bit  of  pork  had  its  own  strange  history.  Kris- 
tian had  saved  it  from  his  own  food  up  at  the  farm  or 
how  else  had  he  come  into  possession  of  it?    He  had 


224         DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

passed  it  on  to  Else  at  school  to  take  home  with  her;  it 
was  so  long  since  Father  had  tasted  pork.  Yes,  what 
a  long  time  it  was  since  they  had  had  pork  in  the  house  ! 
And  how  like  Kristian  to  think  of  it!  Ditte  peered 
anxiously  out  while  she  was  stirring  the  frying-pan. 
Now  the  two  ravenous  boys  would  naturally  smell  the 
po--k,  and  come  hurrying  up,  wolfishly  hungry.  Ah, 
vi  ell !    Away,  shadows  !    Let  the  sun  shine  ! 

"Well,  I  have  found  a  home  for  the  boy,"  said  her 
father  in  a  low  voice  when  he  had  finished  his  meal  and 
got  his  pipe  filled.  It  was  with  a  middle-aged  childless 
couple;  Lars  Peter  thought  the  little  fellow  would  be 
well  off  there;  the  man  was  a  crofter  at  Noddebo. 
"Are  you  just  as  determined  to  go  to  the  city?"  he 
asked.  "Couldn't  you  think  of  going  to  one  of 
the  smaller  towns — Frederiksværk,  for  example, —  or 
Hillerod?  Then  you  would  be  nearer  the  child, — and 
us  too."  No,  Ditte  wanted  to  go  to  Copenhagen.  Out 
here  every  one  said:  "Oh,  the  rag  and  bone  man's 
lass,  the  one  with  the  illegitimate  child!"  But  there 
there  would  be  no  one  who  knew  anything  about  the 
matter,  so  she  would  be  taken  on  her  own  merits,  and 
Ditte  promised  herself  that  she  would  soon  be  looked 
up  to.  It  had  gone  badly  enough  for  a  long  time,  but 
up  there  were  many  opportunities  for  those  who  really 
wanted  work,  and  Ditte  was  very  determined  to  give 
her  fate  a  helping  hand. 

"Yes,  If  only  I  had  a  little  money!"  said  Lars  Peter 
with  a  sigh.  "Then  I  could  have  gone  Into  town  with 
you,  and  begun  a  little  ironmongery  business,  or  else 
got  hold  of  a  little  land."     Lars  Peter  had  quite  for- 


WHY  DOESN'T  SHE  GET  MARRIED?    225 

gotten  the  troubles  he  had  endured  in  the  "Crow's 
Nest."  Now  he  would  have  had  no  objection  to  begin- 
ning the  old  life  again, — half  on  the  land,  and  half  on 
the  road. 

It  was  not  worth  while  staying  In  the  hamlet.  Things 
got  still  worse  after  the  innkeeper's  death.  The  in- 
habitants were  unaccustomed  to  think  or  do  business 
for  themselves,  and  wandered  aimlessly  about.  There 
was  no  method  in  anything.  The  boat  and  tackle  could 
not  be  kept  up  like  this,  and  food  was  hardly  to  be  got. 
They  had  no  connection  for  selling  their  catch  to — the 
innkeeper  had  always  seen  to  that.  In  order  to  make 
things  a  little  better,  Lars  Peter  took  to  the  road  again, 
and  began  to  hawk  herrings.  He  was  not  at  all  dis- 
pleased at  the  change.  It  brought  food  to  the  house, 
and  it  made  his  blood  run  a  little  faster  again.  Truth 
to  tell,  he  had  had  enough  of  the  fishing,  which  brought 
in  its  train  little  food  in  the  larder,  but  cold  in  the  limbs 
and  many  night-watches.  His  fingers  itched  to  begin 
something  new,  in  a  new  place, — to  try  another  way  of 
making  a  living.  But  the  money!  "If  he  had  to  come 
to  grief,  what  satisfaction  had  he  in  laying  hands  on  my 
little  all?"  he  asked,  for  certainly  the  twentieth 
time. 

But  Ditte  did  not  encourage  him  in  this  vagabond- 
age; it  had  become  worse  and  worse  for  them,  every 
time  he  had  broken  off  with  the  old  life:  here  at  least 
they  had  a  roof  over  their  heads.  "No,  you  try  to 
work  off  a  little  of  the  debt,"  she  said  wisely,  "think 
what  Mother's  illness  and  funeral  have  cost!"  Yes, 
Lars  Peter  remembered  it  well  enough;  but  what  the 


226         DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

devil  did  that  matter?  Other  people  had  cheated  him 
out  of  all  his! 

No,  Ditte  did  not  think  one  could  run  away  from 
one's  debts.  "We  can't  go  away  from  the  old  couple 
either — they  have  no  one  but  us.  Sister  must  go  there 
every  day  and  give  them  a  helping  hand.  And  when  I 
begin  to  get  on  in  the  capital,  then  I  will  help  to  get  the 
whole  cleared  off,  and  we  can  leave  here  like  respec- 
table people.    In  town  the  wages  are  high." 

"Yes,  perhaps  you  are  right.  But  it  would  have  been 
splendid  if  only  we  could  have  gone  into  the  town  alto- 
gether.   There  one  could  begin  all  over  again." 

Yes,  that  was  just  it.  Ditte  wanted  to  go  in  quite 
alone — unhampered  by  past  and  origin  and  everything 
that  could  hold  a  girl  down — be  she  ever  so  capable  and 
clever, — and  see  if  she  could  get  on.  There  must  be 
something  good  in  store  for  her  too.  Granny  had  al- 
ways maintained  it,  and  in  her  own  heart  it  lay  buried 
deep  like  a  glowing  promise;  often  shrunk  into  the 
smallest  compass,  but  never  quite  destroyed.  Luck 
came  in  so  many  strange  ways;  but  one  must  oneself 
hold  out  a  hand.  And  Ditte  did  not  intend  to  disap- 
point those  at  home,  even  if  she  got  on  well.  It  was 
not  for  her  own  sake  that  she  was  going. 


CHAPTER  XXI 
OUT  IN  THE  WIDE  WORLD 

THE  last  day  before  the  uprooting  was  a  busy 
time  for  Ditte.  All  the  clothes  in  the  house  had 
to  be  gone  through  once  more — and  it  was  no 
light  task.  Although  they  had  had  nothing  new  since 
they  came  to  the  hamlet,  but  steadfastly  wore  out  rem- 
nants of  their  better  days  in  the  "Crow's  Nest,"  there 
was  more  and  more  to  deal  with.  Heaps  of  old  rags 
seemed  to  collect  from  year  to  year,  one  never  quite  got 
to  the  bottom  of  them.  They  were  hard  enough  on 
their  clothes,  the  lads,  both  Povl  and  the  twin  Rasmus, 
whom  they  could  not  find  it  in  their  hearts  to  get  rid  of. 
Kristian  would  wear  out  everything  they  put  on  him. 
It  had  been  Ditte's  care  to  get  everything  turned  and 
twisted  so  that  it  could  be  serviceable  again.  Most  of 
the  clothes  had  been  made  for  them  by  Sorine  in  the 
"Crow's  Nest,"  out  of  old,  cast-off  clothing  which  Lars 
Peter  had  brought  home  in  the  rag  bags.  Now  they 
were  literally  falling  to  pieces,  and  Ditte  had  to  take 
one  patch  to  sew  on  another  patch.  Every  evening 
when  the  children  were  in  bed  she  could  begin  at  once. 
How  Else  would  get  on  with  this  was  her  greatest 
worry,  and  now  she  sat  working  at  it,  far  into  the 
night,  so  that  the  child  should  not  be  overwhelmed  in 
rags.  She  sewed  the  remains  of  two  pairs  of  breeches 
into  one  pair,  patched  and  strengthened.     Else  was 

227 


228         DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

capable  enough  for  her  ten  years,  quite  clever  at  house- 
keeping, but  she  wasn't  quite  accustomed  to  darning 
and  sewing  yet, — she  was  too  little. 

And  so  the  end  of  October  was  here, — it  was  dawn. 
Lars  Peter  stood  at  the  door  with  a  load  of  autumn  her- 
rings to  be  delivered  to  a  big  farmer  at  Noddebo;  from 
there  he  had  undertaken  to  carry  a  load  of  charcoal  to 
the  capital.  In  this  v/ay  he  got  the  lass  and  her  baby 
respectably  moved  and  earned  a  modest  penny,  at  the 
same  time,  which  would  come  in  useful.  The  parting 
was  soon  over.  The  two  boys  already  lay  out  in  the 
wet  sand  by  the  gable  wall,  and  built  castles,  although 
it  was  hardly  light  enough  to  see  yet.  They  rushed 
out  to  their  play  as  soon  as  they  came  out  of  their 
beds,  and  it  was  nearly  impossible  to  get  them  in  in  the 
evening,  so  engrossed  were  they  in  their  task.  They 
had  scarcely  time  to  give  her  a  handshake,  to  say 
"good-bye,"  and  were  deep  in  their  sand-hole  again; 
they  never  thought  of  turning  their  heads  to  see  the  cart 
drive  off.  Else  waved,  but  smiled  all  the  time, — now 
she  was  to  be  mistress  of  the  house,  and  have  no  one 
over  her.  Ditte  noticed  both  of  these  incidents — she 
had  been  as  a  mother  to  them  and  done  everything  for 
them  in  her  power. 

She  sat  quite  still  fretting  over  it.  Lost  in  reflection, 
and  totting  it  ail  up  against  them,  she  never  heard  Lars 
Peter's  small  talk  about  the  countryside  and  the 
weather.  She  had  seen  that  they  did  not  care  about  her 
any  more,  it  would  be  a  good  time  before  she  let  them 
hear  from  her  and  then  perhaps  they  would  begin  to 
behave  differently  to  her.    Her  eyelids  hung  heavy,  and 


OUT  IN  THE  WIDE  WORLD  229 

now  and  then  she  loosened  the  shawl  and  felt  the  baby 
to  see  that  he  was  well  wrapped  up  against  the  morn- 
ing cold. 

"Is  he  warm  and  comfortable  ?"  Lars  Peter  turned  to 
her  and  discovered  that  tears  hung  on  her  eyelashes. 

"You  must  remember  that  the  boy  will  be  well  looked 
after,"  he  said  comfortingly,  "and  at  Christmas  you 
must  get  a  holiday  and  come  back  and  see  him,  and 
us  as  well." 

"Oh !  It's  not  that,"  said  Ditte,  beginning  to  sob, 
"it  is  the  children.  They  didn't  care  a  bit  when  I 
left  them." 

"Is  that  all?"  Lars  Peter  smiled  good-humoredly. 
"The  other  day  I  overheard  Povl  ask  Else  if  she 
thought  I  should  soon  die,  and  then  he  could  have  my 
long  boots.  Children  are  all  alike — out  of  sight,  out 
of  mind!  But  they  care  for  you  all  the  same,  even  if 
they  have  been  a  little  less  friendly  lately,  on  account  of 
this  business  here.  They  have  had  to  hear  many  a  bad 
word  for  your  sake,  you  must  remember." 

Lars  Peter  was  in  his  kindly  mood  of  old.  The  vi- 
brations of  his  droning  voice  seemed  to  fill  her  with  a 
sense  of  comfort.  Ditte  had  not  seen  him  like  this  for 
a  long  time,  not  since  she  had  gone  out  driving  with 
him  as  a  child.  It  was  the  country  road  that  worked 
the  magic,  and  that  was  his  rightful  place, — sitting  on 
a  cart.  Naturally  it  was  not  Big  Klaus  he  had  between 
the  shafts;  but  he  had  already  got  the  horse  into  his 
own  steady  jog-trot.  And  Ditte  could  see  that  the 
horse  was  fond  of  its  master, 

"What  the  devil  is  that?"  Lars  Peter  suddenly  ex- 


230        DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

claimed.  Kristian  had  suddenly  popped  out  of  a  thorn- 
bush  by  the  wayside  just  in  front  of  them,  with  his  cap 
over  his  eyes,  like  a  highwayman.  He  stood  in  the 
middle  of  the  road  and  aimed  at  the  cart  with  a  stick. 

"Stop!"  he  cried,  and  laughed  all  over, — the  rascal! 
He  had  his  satchel  over  his  arm.  "May  I  drive  with 
you?"  he  asked,  dancing  in  front  of  the  cart,  "only  a 
little  way;  I  want  so  much  to  go  part  of  the  way  with 
Ditte." 

"But  you  have  to  go  to  school,  you  rascal!"  Lars 
Peter  tried  to  look  angry. 

Kristian  stood  there  looking  like  a  criminal  with 
downcast  eyes.  He  had  forgotten  all  about  that,  al- 
though the  school  satchel  hung  over  his  arm  as  a  re- 
minder. But  that  was  Kristian  all  over;  there  was  only 
room  for  one  idea  at  a  time  in  his  noddle,  "Now  it's 
too  late,"  he  said  in  an  unhappy  voice,  "1  should  only 
get  a  flogging  if  I  went  now." 

Lars  Peter  looked  doubtfully  at  Ditte  for  support; 
she  was  always  ready  to  pounce  on  him  for  playing 
truant.  But  this  now  was  something  she  did  not  like  to 
sit  m  judgment  uoon — she  looked  everywhere  else. 

Kristian  took  in  the  situation  at  a  glance,  and  was 
up  on  the  seat.  Before  many  minutes  had  passed  he 
had  got  the  whip  and  reins  from  his  father.  He  han- 
dled the  tackle  all  right;  the  horse  livened  up  under  his 
hands  and  trotted  quicker.  It  could  not  resist  young 
blood  either.  Ditte  sat  and  sunned  herself  contentedly. 
What  did  she  care  if  Kristian  played  truant  to-day? 
He  was  a  good  boy — ^the  one  she  loved  best  of  the 
whole  family,  and  the  one  too  who  had  caused  her  the 


OUT  IN  THE  WIDE  WORLD  231 

most  trouble.  He  clung  to  her  on  that  account,  risked 
thrashings  both  in  school  and  at  the  farm,  only  to  say 
"good-bye."  "I  shall  send  you  something  from  town, 
perhaps  a  driving  whip,"  she  said. 

Kristian's  eyes  glistened.  "And  one  day  I  will  come 
In  and  visit  you ;  I  could  run  the  whole  way  quite  well," 
he  promised  her. 

"You  just  dare  to  try !"  cried  Ditte,  frightened.  "You 
won't  do  it,  promise  me  that."  Kristian  promised  her 
readily,  good  boy  that  he  was;  but  If  he  could  keep  to  it, 
when  the  fit  came  over  him  was  another  matter.  Now 
he  had  to  get  down;  It  could  not  go  on  like  this.  "You 
■will  have  to  run  ten  miles,  you  rascal !"  said  his  father. 
Bah !  Kristian  did  not  count  ten  miles  any  distance — 
he  had  gone  on  longer  trips — longer  than  it  was  wise 
to  talk  about.  Lars  Peter  had  to  lift  him  forcibly  over 
the  side  of  the  cart  and  let  him  drop  Into  the  road.  He 
stood  for  a  long  time  gazing  after  them,  then  at  last  he 
turned  round  and  began  to  run.  Ditte  followed  him 
with  her  eyes  until  he  disappeared.  "He  is  a  good 
boy,"  she  said  half  exaisingly. 

"Yes,  but  he  Is  difficult.  I  am  afraid  that  he  will 
have  trouble  through  life." 

Ditte  did  not  answer;  perhaps  sh-e  had  not  heard  it 
at  all.  She  was  quite  strange  and  unlike  herself  to-day. 
She  avoided  meeting  his  eyes,  and  gazed  heavily  before 
her,  and  yet  It  could  be  seen  that  she  saw  nothing.  Lars 
Peter  understood  what  it  was,  although  she  tried  to 
show  nothing.  What  was  the  good  of  making  a  fuss 
over  what  could  not  be  altered.  But  It  was  unlucky  all 
the  same  that  she  sat  and  shut  herself  up  In  these  sad 


232         DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

thoughts.  It  would  have  been  better  to  have  given 
free  vent  to  her  sorrow  and  made  an  end  of  it.  Lars. 
Peter  tried  to  help  her  several  times  by  getting  her 
to  talk;  he  did  not  hold  with  that;  it  was  like  turning 
the  knife  in  the  wound  to  make  a  slaughtered  beast 
bleed.  But  it  had  to  be  done.  And  every  time  she  just 
smiled  a  pale  weary  smile.  It  was  nasty  rough  weather, 
and  several  times  on  the  wav  he  drew  up  in  a  sheltered 
spot  to  let  her  nurse  the  baby  a  little.  Wh'le  she  sat 
at  the  edge  of  the  wood  and  gave  the  little  one  the 
breast,  he  walked  to  and  fro,  and  tried  to  make  them 
comfortable,  or  stood  and  amused  himself  bv  watching 
the  baby's  small  fists  groping  over  the  mother's  breast 
while  it  drank. 

"It  is  hard  after  all  for  such  a  little  kiddy  never  to  be 
able  to  warm  his  nose  on  a  pap  any  more,"  he  ejacu- 
lated. 

Ditte  looked  up  quickly.  For  a  moment  it  seemed 
as  if  all  the  floodgates  would  ooen  and  her  grief  gush 
forth,  but  she  took  herself  in  hand,  and  smiled  her  pale 
smile  once  more. 

It  was  dinner  time  when  thev  reached  their  desti- 
nation and  got  the  herrings  delivered  and  the  char- 
coal loaded  up.  When  thev  came  down  to  the 
crofter's  place  the  wife  stood  in  the  road  on  the  look- 
out; she  was  well  up  in  the  fifties,  stout  vet  bustling. 
"I  thought  as  how  you'd  soon  be  here,"  she  said,  and 
bade  them  welcome.  "And  you  are  just  in  time  for 
dinner."  The  husband  went  a  bit  up  into  the  rootfield, 
and  fussed  about  there,  he  came  limping  towards  them, 
bent   and  worn. 


OUT  IN  THE  WIDE  WORLD         233 

**So  that  is  the  lass,"  he  said,  and  held  out  a  clay- 
stained  fist.  "She  has  been  early  enough  about  the 
business — she  is  only  a  child  herself."  Ditte  got  red 
and  turned  her  head  away. 

"Never  you  mind  what  that  silly  old  fellow  says," 
broke  in  the  woman.  "He  has  always  been  one  of 
those  to  give  plenty  of  tongue.  But  it  has  never  gone 
beyond  talk,  or  else  we  shouldn't  have  had  to  take  a 
stranger's  child  to  give  us  a  little  support  in  our  old 
age. 

"The  pair  of  us  must  be  at  fault  there,"  said  the 
man  coolly,  beginning  to  scrape  the  clay  from  his  hands 
with  a  stick.  "And  as  far  as  that  goes,  folks  get  the 
children  that  the  Lord  meant  them  to  have." 

"Pooh !"  The  woman  sniffed  scornfully.  "It  is 
the  man  who  becrets  children — if  he  is  able  to."  She 
looked  quite  furious  as  she  stood  there  with  the  baby 
in  her  arms.     It  was  an  old  sore  reopened. 

"Down  at  the  hamlet  we  often  say  that  the  hussies 
come  running  with  the  babies  that  the  mothers  won't 
have,"  said  Lars  Peter,  trying  pleasantly  to  stop  the 
squabble. 

"So  I  have  something  to  look  forward  to,"  answered 
the  woman,  smiling.  "I  must  look  to  the  lass  I  haven't 
got!  But  seriously  speaking,  it  is  the  same  here  as 
everywhere  else.  Some  get  none  and  others  too  much 
of  the  good  things  of  life. — Well,  well,  come  in  and 
get  something  inside  you.  You  must  want  it  after 
your  long  ride."  She  was  not  so  bad-tempered  after 
all  as  she  seemed  at  first. 

In  the  corner  by  the  cold  stove  sat  a  shriveled  old 


234        DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

man  staring  vacantly  in  front  of  him.  It  was  not 
easy  to  say  if  he  understood  anything  at  all;  he  did 
not  move  when  they  came  in,  but  muttered  and  shuffled 
his  wooden  shoes  to  and  fro  on  the  floor.  He  shook 
all  over  as  if  he  had  the  palsy. 

*'Here  is  something  for  you  to  do,  Father,"  the 
woman  screamed  into  his  ear,  and  showed  him  the 
bundle.  But  he  did  not  understand.  "Just  so,  just 
so,"  he  mumbled,  clapped  his  withered  thighs  with  the 
palms  of  his  hands  and  shuffled.  The  woman  gave 
up  trying  to  make  him  take  the  baby  and  gave  it  to 
Ditte  again.      "He  will  soon  have  it,"  she  said. 

"I  should  think  he's  a  little  queer,  isn't  he?"  said 
Lars  Peter. 

"Yes,  it  is  time  and  eternity  that  worry  him;  he 
can't  make  the  long  years  pass.  He  can't  think,  he's 
too  silly  for  that,  and  can  scarcely  see  or  hear,  so  he 
sits  and  always  treads  with  his  feet  to  pass  the"  time 
and  jabbers  nonsense.  But  now  we  think  that  this 
will  be  the  saving  of  him,  for  it  will  probably  be  he 
who  has  to  look  after  the  baby.  We  others  have  our 
own  work  to   see   after." 

"The  Lord  has  forgotten  him,"  the  man  put  in; 
"He  never  remembers  that  the  poor  have  to  live  and 
often  He  forgets  to  see  to  it  that  we  can  die."  He 
tightened  his  mouth  like  a  miser. 

"Let  him  alone  for  that  time  that  remains  to  him," 
said  the  woman  sharply.  "He  does  not  eat  much 
bread.  And  he  doesn't  have  an  amusing  time — poor 
fellow." 

"Amusing!     Amusing!"    The  man  made  a  grimace. 


OUT  IN  THE  WIDE  WORLD  235 

"Do  others  have  an  amusing  time  either?  If  you 
want  an  amusing  time,  you  must  be  able  to  pay  for 
it." 

There  they  were  at  the  bone  of  contention  again. 
Lars  Peter  was  not  pleased  to  think  that  perhaps  he 
had  put  the  baby  in  a  house  where  there  was  quarrel- 
ing. "There  has  always  been  more  to  eat  up  than 
to  bring  forth,"  he  said  soothingly, — and  It  would  be 
easy  to  make  a  living  if  one  had  only  old  people  and 
children  to  pay  for.  But  It  seems  as  If  we  poor  folk 
have  the  devil  at  our  backs,  and  therefore  can't  get  on, 
however  much  we  try." 

The  husband  and  wife  exchanged  glances.  "If  we 
have  the  devil  at  our  backs,  then  the  Lord  has 
put  him  there  for  our  good — and  so  we  must  bear 
him  to  the  end  of  our  lives,"  said  the  wife  after 
a  pause. 

"Perhaps  so,"  answered  Lars  Peter.  "We  can't 
be  quite  sure  of  that,  for  the  Lord  gets  the  blame  for 
so  much  that  really  ought  to  be  laid  on  the  devil's 
shoulders.  The  innkeeper  down  in  the  fishing  hamlet 
tried  to  get  us  to  believe  that  It  was  on  the  Lord's  ac- 
count that  he  bullied  us;  but  dang  me  If  the  devil  didn't 
come  and  fetch  him  all  the  same.  No,  we  poor  folks 
must  look  to  ourselves  both  for  what  harms,  and  what 
helps  us  up,  and  see  that  we  hang  together.  And  so 
I  say  'Thank  you'  to  you  for  taking  the  youngster. 
You  won't  be  rich  out  of  the  money  you  get,  but  at 
any  rate  I  will  see  to  It  that  it  is  paid  at  the  right  time. 
It  will  be  four  crowns  on  the  first  of  each  month,  and 
six  for  the  Christmas  month.     And  two  crans  of  her- 


236         DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

rings  at  harvest  time.     They  are  at  their  fattest  then, 
and  I  will  see  that  you  are  not  cheated." 

*'No,  we  shan't  get  rich  by  what  we  get  from  it — 
dear  as  everything  is  now,"  said  the  wife,  "but  we 
had  thought  the  boy  would  be  a  little  support  to  us  in 
our  old  age  as  a  reward  for  taking  him." 

Ditte  took  no  part  in  the  conversation,  but  every 
time  the  talk  fell  on  her  baby,  a  shudder  went  through 
her. 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  Lars  Peter.  "Let  us  see  how  things 
go  for  a  bit.  It  is  never  wise  for  either  of  the  parties 
to  bind  themselves  too  hard  and  fast." 

"That  was  our  idea.  We  meant  to  adopt  the  child, 
so  that  no  one  should  know  it  was  anything  but  our 
own." 

Ditte  began  suddenly  to  cry  outright — not  only  to 
weep,  but  to  utter  piercing  screams  which  cut  one  to 
the  heart.  The  crofter  couple  were  so  startled  that 
they  dropped  their  knives  and  forks,  and  even  the  old 
grandfather  waked  up  for  a  moment.  "Aren't  you 
ashamed  of  yourself,  lass?"  cried  Lars  Peter,  and  took 
her  in  his  arms.  "You  mustn't  take  my  baby  from 
me,"  she  shouted.  "You  mustn't  take  my  baby  from 
me!"     She  was  quite  beside  herself. 

Well,  they  passed  it  off  as  well  as  they  could,  and 
began  to  talk  of  something  else.  And  as  soon  as  the 
meal  was  finished  the  men  went  out  to  harness  the 
horse.«  Ditte  laid  her  baby  to  the  breast — for  the 
last  time.  She  was  unhappy.  "Let  it  take  all  it  can 
get;  drain  your  breasts  quite  empty,"  said  the  woman. 
"And  here  is  some  warm  oil  to  smear  them  with  to 


OUT  IN  THE  WIDE  WORLD  237 

ease  the  swelling  a  little  when  next  the  milk  comes. 
Yes,  you  may  stare,  and  think  how  can  I  know  that;  but 
another  woman  can  have  been  young  once  too,  and 
easily  deceived  and  have  had  to  give  her  child  to 
strangers.     Such  is  Life!" 

Ditte  began  to  cry  again.      "You  mustn't  take  my 
child  from  me  I"  she  wailed. 

"But  how  you  do  take  on !  Who  says  any  one  is 
taking  your  child  from  you?  There  are  children 
enough  to  be  had,  and  you  can  come  and  fetch  it  your- 
self when  you  want  to.  Now  you  had  better  put  on 
your  things,  for  I  hear  the  cart  coming.  We  will  bind 
up  the  breasts,  so  that  they  won't  get  flabby  and  hang- 
ing; but  will  be  round  and  firm;  so  that  you  will  look 
like  a  maid  again.  You  have  a  fine  skin,  child,"  she 
continued,  talking  all  the  time  she  helped  her.  "You 
have  the  breast  of  a  princess.  The  man  who  could 
lay  his  head  here  had  no  hard  bed!  Ah,  yes,  youth 
and  beauty  are  tender  plants.  Another  woman  has 
also  been  young  once  and  fitted  to  bring  the  wildest 
rascal  to  rest  on  her  bosom,  and  where  is  all  that  now? 
Now  I  have  only  this  crazy  old  fellow  to  come  and 
nag  at  me, — a  draggled  hen  with  a  mad  cat  at  her 
heels!  That  is  all  that  Is  left  of  the  glory  of  youth. 
Yes,  you  can  laugh  at  another  poor  creature,  but  you 
can't  give  up  a  little  share  of  your  wealth.  And  yet 
there  are  more  left  where  that  one  came  from,  sweet 
and  shapely  as  you   are." 

So  she  prattled  on;  but  DItte  smiled  no  more.  It 
was  much  against  her  will  she  had  giggled — in  the 
midst  of  her  black  despair,  at  the  comic  picture  of  the 


238        DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

hen  and  the  cat.  Against  her  will  too  she  was  helped 
Into  Lars  Peter's  big  driving  cape,  to  prevent  her  from 
taking  cold  in  her  breasts,  which  could  very  easily 
turn  to  cancer; — and  resistlngly  she  let  herself  be 
placed  in  the  cart.  "Come,  kiss  your  baby  for  the 
last  time,"  said  the  crofter's  wife,  and  held  the  boy 
up  to  her,  "and  come  soon  again  and  see  him."  Ditte 
tried  to  take  him,  but  was  not  allowed  to.  The  woman 
went  In  with  him,  holding  him  tightly  to  her,  as  if  she 
would  show  that  now  he  was  hers. 

They  went  slowly  forward  In  the  autumn  cold;  the 
horse  was  old  and  tired  and  they  had  a  heavy  load. 
Lars  Peter  had  his  hands  full  to  keep  him  going. 
DItte  sat  still  as  a  miouse — not  a  muscle  moved — her 
eyes  were  fixed.  She  was  exhausted,  the  wet  wind  blew 
cold  through  her  garments,  grief  gnawed  at  her  heart. 
The  trees  wept — the  horse's  coat  dripped,  Lars 
Peter's  hat  and  Ditte's  own  eyelashes.  At  the  side  of 
the  road  loomed  shadows  in  the  fog,  bushes,  or  cattle 
grazing.  Some  one  was  singing,  perhaps  a  herdsman, 
or  a  laborer  on  the  roots. 

Why  must  we  mortals  weep 
Through  never-ending  morrows? 

Our  eyes  they  are  but  twain, 
And  such  a  crowd  of  sorrows ! 

Ditte  knew  the  song  well,  but  she  was  not  weeping, 
why  did  he  sing  it  then?  She  only  sat  under  the  bluff 
and  everything  dripped  and  wept  over  her  because 
she  had  sinned.  It  was  senseless,  this  continual  drip- 
ping,— why  she  had  sinned  only  just  to  stop  tears ! 
The  grasses  by  the  roadside  were  trodden  down,  and 


OUT  IN  THE  WIDE  WORLD         239 

Karl  stepped  out  of  the  fog.  "It  was  I  who  sang," 
he  said,  "but  we  made  a  mistake,  the  Judge  of  all  and 
L  You  are  no  child  of  sin — comfort  me  again.  You 
know  our  Lord  said:  'Inasmuch  as  ye  did  it  to  one  of 
the  least  of  these,  ye  did  it  unto  me,'  "  So  he  went  on 
imploring  her,  but  Ditte  tore  herself  free  and  fled  in 
loathing. 

She  woke  with  a  start,  they  had  stopped  at  the  edge 
of  a  wood.  It  was  nearly  dark.  "The  horse  can  do 
no  more,  we  must  see  about  finding  a  shelter  for  the 
night,"  said  Lars  Peter.  It  was  close  to  Rudersdal 
Inn;  but  they  could  not  afford  to  put  up  there  for  the 
night,  so  Lars  Peter  drove  behind  an  old  barn  and 
unharnessed.  The  horse  had  its  nosebag  and  Lars 
Peter's  driving  cape  over  it.  They  themselves  crept 
into  the  barn  through  the  hatch  and  settled  down  in 
the  straw. 

Lars  Peter  took  out  food  and  handed  it  to  Ditte  in 
the  darkness;  there  was  an  apple  for  her  too,  and  all 
the  time  he  spoke  comforting  words  to  her.  Ditte 
could  not  eat;  she  needed  only  rest  and  oblivion.  But 
his  quiet  droning  voice  was  pleasant  to  hear,  if  only  she 
was  not  obliged  to  answer.  She  had  slept  little  the 
last  few  nights  with  excitement  and  overwork,  and  now 
she  only  wanted  to  sleep  and  forget  it  all :  while  he 
chattered  on,  she  fell  asleep. 

It  was  a  restless  night.  Lars  Peter  did  not  get 
much  sleep.  The  milk  set  up  congestion  in  Ditte's 
breasts,  and  sorrow  clutched  at  her  heart:  she  lay 
dreaming  and  whimpered  after  her  boy.  When  it  got 
too  much  to  bear,  Lars  Peter  waked  her  up,  and  talked 


240        DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

kindly  to  her.  "He  is  all  right.  Be  sure  he  is  asleep," 
said  he. 

"No,  no,  I  know  he  is  awake,  and  lies  crying  for  me, 
for  the  milk  is  flowing  to  my  breasts,"  sobbed  Ditte. 

That  was  a  strange  thing  to  hear.  Lars  Peter  was 
quite  at  a  loss  to  know  what  to  say.  "At  any  rate, 
see  that  you  take  things  sensibly,"  he  said.  "It  is  of  no 
use  crying  over  spilt  milk.  And  when  you  have  got 
on  a  bit,  you  can  always  fetch  the  boy.  In  the  town 
there  is  shelter  for  those  who  find  it  hard  enough  to  get 
it  out  here  on  the  open  land.  Perhaps  it  won't  be  long 
before  we  others  come  after  you.  And  Karl  is  there, 
anyhow,  if  you  feel  lonely." 

Ditte  was  silent.  She  would  not  seek  him  out  any- 
how. 

In  the  latter  part  of  the  night  the  moon  shone  forth. 
Ditte  had  pain  all  round  her  armpits,  and  could  not 
bear  to  lie  still.  They  got  up  and  went  on  their  way 
again.  There  were  people  on  the  road  already,  soli- 
tary wayfarers,  half  drunk  with  sleep,  going  in  the 
same  direction  as  themselves.  "It  is  hiring  day!"  said 
Lars  Peter.  "They  are  walking  to  town  to  go  into 
service  or  perhaps  find  casual  work.  I  ought  to  have 
done  the  same  in  my  youth,  and  then  perhaps  I  should 
have  looked  very  different  to-day." 

"But  then  you  wouldn't  have  had  us,"  exclaimed 
Ditte,  horrified. 

Lars  Peter  looked  at  her  uncomprehendingly.  "No  ? 
— Well,  that's  true  too,"  he  exclaimed,  "but  for  all 
that,  who  knows?"  No,  that  would  have  been  too 
curious, — all    those    meetings!     Then    chance    would 


OUT  IN  THE  WIDE  WORLD  241 

have  had  to  bring  Sorine  to  the  capital,  and  they  should 
have  met  each  other  naturally,  and —  But  it  is  an  im- 
possible task  to  try  to  push  about  the  pawns  for  Fate, 
and  the  man  who  v/ould  mix  himself  up  in  our  Lord's 
matters  must  have  a  good  head.  For  his  part,  he  only 
knew  that  as  far  as  Ditte  and  the  others  went,  he  would 
not  wish  his  life  otherwise. 

Soon  the  big  road  became  lively.  Carts  with  chests 
of  drawers  and  wardrobes  perched  up  behind  overtook 
them,  and  foot  passengers  came  on  to  the  highway  from 
foot  and  field  paths  carrying  knapsacks.  It  w-as  just 
daylight.  "You  can  see  you  are  not  the  only  one  who 
wants  to  go  in  and  try  his  luck,"  said  Lars  Peter 
gaily. 

Ditte  thought  this  had  both  a  bad  and  good  side. 
"If  only  I  can  find  a  place,"  said  she. 

Lars  Peter  smiled.  "If  you  took  the  whole  surface 
of  Arre  lake,  Copenhagen  could  not  be  put  down  on  it," 
he  replied,  "and  people  live  over  one  another  in  many 
layers."  One  could  see  that  he  had  no  very  clear  idea 
of  the  capital. 

"What  do  they  do  with  the  dirty  water  they  have 
washed  up  in?"  asked  Ditte.  "For  then  they  can't 
throw  it  out  of  the  kitchen  door." 

"No,  are  you  crazy?  Then  people  would  get  it  on 
their  heads.  It  goes  down  to  the  ground  through 
pipes." 

Ditte  was  quite  livened  up  now.  The  congestion  in 
the  breasts  was  getting  better,  and  all  that  lay  behind 
had  to  give  way  to  the  present.  The  capital  towered 
in  front  of  them, — mystical  in  the  morning  fog,  like  an 


242         DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

endless  forest  of  spires  and  cupolas,  and  factory  chim- 
neys, and  from  all  the  roads  streamed  in  people  going 
to  their  daily  work, — carts  and  provisions :  butchers' 
carts,  milk  carts,  vegetable  carts,  and  bakers'  carts. 
"Yes,  they  get  plenty  to  eat  in  there,"  said  Lars  Peter, 
and  sighed.  "A  man  has  to  live  in  there  if  he  is  to 
get  a  share  in  the  good  things  he  helps  to  produce  him- 
self." 

Now  they  formed  one  link  in  the  endless  train  of 
vehicles,  and  suddenly  the  road  changed  into  paved 
streets,  and  there  was  a  thunder  of  traffic.  Ditte,  quite 
frightened,  seized  Lars  Peter's  arm,  and  pressed  closely 
to  him.  Clanging  trams,  shouting  drivers,  cyclists  and 
people  who  rushed  into  the  middle  of  a  whirlpool,  and 
came  out  safe  on  the  other  side,  the  whole  whirled  and 
whirled  together  in  an  earsplitting  uproar.  And  the 
high  houses  bent  over  the  crowds,  as  if  they  were  giddy, 
— no,  she  had  to  shut  her  eyes  and  shuddered  all  over. 
She  was  not  really  afraid,  only  overwhelmed  by  all 
these  terrible  things;  she  was  sure  they  could  never 
come  out  safely.  And  suddenly  they  rumbled  through 
a  gateway,  and  were  in  the  courtyard  of  an  inn  in 
Wester  Street,  which  she  knew  quite  well  from  Lars 
Peter's  description  of  his  adventurous  citv  trio.  Lars 
Peter  got  her  put  to  bed,  then  drove  on  to  Company 
Street  where  he  was  to  deliver  his  charcoal. 

And  so  his  duty  was  accomplished,  and  he  was  in 
the  capital !  The  horse  stood  in  the  stable  before  a 
full  manger,  and  Lars  Peter  stood  outside  the  inn 
door,  and  breathed  in  the  air,  with  his  head  full  of  a 
strange,  empty  feeling.     Outside  lay  cares  and  trou- 


OUT  IN  THE  WIDE  WORLD  243 

bles  and  hard  labor;  here  stood  Lars  Peter  full  of  ex- 
pectations. There  were  in  fact  only  too  many  things 
to  choose  among  In  here  ! 

But  first  of  all  he  had  to  feed  the  inner  man;  he 
was  frightfully  hungry.  He  found  an  underground 
eating-house  and  ordered  a  plate  of  hash,  and  a  dram. 
It  was  absolutely  necessary  to  get  the  cold  and  fatigue 
properly  out  of  his  limbs.  And  he  was  successful! 
When  Lars  Peter  came  up  into  the  street  again,  he  was 
a  different  being.  It  was  true  that  all  his  surround- 
ings had  changed  too.  The  sun  shone,  or  was  just 
going  to — and  the  lass's  prospects  seemed  quite  bril- 
liant, when  rightly  considered.  She  was  young  and 
clever  with  her  hands,  she  had  no  further  trouble  with 
her  child,  and  it  was  so  lucky  that  it  was  hiring  day 
into  the  bargain.  Now,  among  all  the  vacant  situa- 
tions he  must  find  one  that  just  suited  her, — where  she 
would  get  good  wages,  and  be  well  treated,  and  her 
personality  develop.  For,  honestly  speaking,  Lars 
Peter  could  find  no  match  to  the  girl.  For  a  few  mo- 
ments he  pondered  as  to  whether  he  should  look  in  at 
the  Hauser  Place  cellar,  where  he  had  been  helped 
once  before.  Perhaps  the  Bandmaster — ?  He  had 
worked  miracles  that  time.  In  Lars  Peter's  memory 
that  trip  had  become  both  an  adventure  and  something 
of  an  event.  But  when  he  came  to  Hauser  Place  and 
saw  the  steps  leading  down  to  the  cellar,  he  stood  still 
all  the  same.  He  had  been  robbed  of  both  his  watch 
and  his  pocketbook,  however  it  had  happened.  He 
stood  meditating  a  little,  then  turned  and  crossed  the 
Coal  Square  into  the  old  streets. 


244         DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

He  liked  walking  here.  Chandlers  and  ironmongers 
alternated  in  the  basement  shops,  and  on  the  ground 
floor  on  the  pavement  lay  old  lurr.ber  which  spoke 
right  to  his  heart.  It  would  have  been  fine  to  have 
had  some  of  that  on  his  cart  once  upon  a  time !  Oppo- 
site the  chandler's  brooms  lay  in  bundles,  and  here  and 
there  stood  a  wheelbarrow  with  iron  corners  and  all; 
and  there  hung  shining  new  wooden  shoes  on  the  wall. 
Lars  Peter  would  have  loved  to  have  a  shop  here. 

In  St.  Peter's  Street  there  was  a  big  crowd  before 
a  flight  of  steps  that  led  right  down  on  to  the  pave- 
ment. These  were  folk  of  his  own  class,  men  with 
their  trousers  stuffed  into  their  boots,  and  women,  who 
one  could  see  were  accustomed  to  crawl  about  among 
roots  and  potatoes.  They  stood  staring  ud  at  the  hi?h 
windows.  ^'Servants'  Agency,"  was  painted  on  the 
panes.  Now  and  then  one  of  the  flock  made  a  hasty 
resolve  and  went  up.  One  could  almost  think  it  had 
something  to  do  with  going  before  the  magistrate,  they 
all  looked  so  faint-hearted. 

Lars  Peter  went  quickly  up  the  stairs — he  had  been 
to  an  office  before, — he  had!  In  the  entry  they  stood 
treading  on  one  another's  heels  just  like  sheep.  "What 
the  devil !  They  can't  eat  one  in  there,"  he  said,  and 
pushed  by  them.  The  big  room  Vv^as  full  of  wet,  steam- 
ing people,  who  stood  so  close  that  they  could  scarcely 
move.  At  the  further  end  of  the  hall  was  a  railing, 
and  behind  it  sat  a  girl  clerk,  and  a  man  called  the  man- 
aging clerk, — one  on  each  side  of  a  big  desk.  They 
called  them  out  one  by  one,  by  pointing  at  them  with  a 
penholder,  listened  to  their  requirements,  and  sorted 


OUT  IN  THE  WIDE  WORLD  245 

them  out  into  divisions.  Some  were  let  through  the 
railings  and  got  in  to  see  the  chief  himself,  who  stayed 
in  the  room  inside  again.  His  staff  called  him  "the 
boss!"  "He's  a  boss  of  human  flesh  and  blood,  that 
fellow!"  said  Lars  Peter,  half  to  himself,  and  looked 
round  challengingly,  but  no  one  dared  to  laugh.  Now 
and  then  the  chief  appeared  at  the  door  and  gave  an 
order.  He  was  most  horribly  fat — so  impossibly  and 
grotesquely  fat!  And  he  was  dark, — he  looked  like  a 
proper  black  Satan,  with  the  remains  of  a  Roman  nose 
in  the  middle  of  his  enormous  swollen  face,  and  bristles 
coming  out  of  a  couple  of  nostrils  that  looked  like  the 
tunnels  down  to  hell.  Lars  Peter  glanced  both  timidly 
and  angrily  at  him;  although  he  had  not  the  least  quar- 
rel with  him;  and  every  time  he  appeared  discomfort 
went  through  the  flock.  And  it  was  not  so  strange 
either,  for  he  was  a  sort  of  God  or  half  Satan,  who 
presided  over  their  interests.  It  was  said  that  he  had 
become  a  millionaire  by  dealing  in  human  flesh.  The  , 
pretty  young  girls  among  them  were  taken  into  his  own 
ofl5ce,  especially  if  they  were  Poles.  He  persuaded 
them  to  go  abroad,  and  they  went  to  brothels  in  the  big 
cities  far  away  out  in  the  wide  world. 

Lars  Peter  was  not  quite  sure  how  to  begin.  He 
wanted  something  extra  good  for  the  lass,  and  for  that 
he  would  have  to  exhibit  her  unusually  fine  qualities, 
but  here  among  all  this  crowd  he  could  not  well  sing 
the  song  of  praise  he  had  on  his  lips.  Then  he  saw 
a  paper  notice  fixed  on  the  door  of  the  agent's  office. 
"Girls  who  have  just  been  confined,  please  apply  to 
Room  B.      Specially  attractive  offer."     An  idea  came 


246        DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

to  him,  as  he  laboriously  spelt  it  through,  and  went 
slowly  away,  afraid  that  some  one  would  connect  his 
departure  with  the  placard.  Then  he  took  his  life 
in  his  hands,  as  one  might  say,  and  knocked  at  the  sec- 
ond door;  he  felt  something  of  a  criminal,  he  knew  not 
why.  A  lady  nearly  as  stout  as  the  agent  opened  the 
door.  She  too  had  a  crooked  nose,  and  glared  at  him 
like  a  parrot.      "It  is  about  a  young  girl!"  he  said. 

"Yes,  have  you  brought  her?"  asked  the  woman 
sharply.  "We  don't  take  wet-nurses  without  seeing 
them!" 

"Oh,  ah!  Is  it  a  wet-nurse?  Well,  I  might  have 
guessed  as  much  if  I  had  used  my  wits  a  bit.  What 
are  you  paying,  if  I  may  make  so  bold  as  to  ask?" 

"We  shall  agree  all  right  about  the  wages,  if  she  is 
healthy.  But  bring  her  here  first,"  said  the  lady  and 
banged  the  door  In  his  face. 

Humph !  That  was  a  real  vixen !  A  cheeky  one 
too!  Lars  Peter  nearly  got  his  nose  jammed  in  the 
door.  He  was  quite  pleased  at  having  answered  her 
back  so  boldly,  and  trotted  quickly  down  the  street, 
his  round  hat  a  trifle  on  the  back  of  his  head.  He 
had  arranged  things  well — so  far !  Only  he  didn't 
quite  like  Ditte's  going  out  as  wet-nurse — as  a  milch 
cow  as  you  might  say.  There  was  always  something 
or  other  fishy  about  that.  He  had  better  go  down 
in  a  cellar  restaurant  and  puzzle  it  out — a  schnaps 
cleared  the  brain  so  wonderfully,  and  made  one  see 
things  in  their  proper  perspective. 

When  he  came  up  again  he  was  quite  clear  that  the 
lass  would  get  an  easy  place  with  a  proper  wage  for 


OUT  IN  THE  WIDE  WORLD  247 

giving  a  strange  baby  the  milk  which  would  otherwise 
be  wasted, — so  that  she  had  not  given  birth  in  vain. 
And  her  own  could  drink  from  the  bottle — it  was  only 
the  real  fine  aristocrats  that  kept  another  woman  to 
give  their  young  ones  the  breast. 

He  walked  firmly  when  he  came  in  to  Ditte's  room, 
and  lifted  his  feet  unusually  high.  "Now  you  can  get 
up,  my  girl,  and  see  about  getting  dressed,"  said  he,  in 
high  spirits.  "For  here  is  a  splendid  place  for  you. 
You  will  be  a  fine  lady,  and  perhaps  give  the  breast  to 
a  little  Count,  if  you  can  pass  the  examination.  For 
it  is  just  as  other  folks  buy  a  milch  cow.  But  dang  it 
all!  The  grand  folks  want  to  know  what  they  are 
getting  for  their  money!" 

Yes,  the  lass  could  certainly  pass  the  test.  It  was  a 
perfect  pleasure  to  see  how  round  and  white  her  shoul- 
der and  breast  had  become.  She  had  her  mother's 
fine  skin;  but  was  not  nearly  so  freckled,  and  was  bet- 
ter proportioned.  Her  hair  was  reddish-gold  and 
shining,  and  when  let  down,  reached  far  below  her 
waisL 


CHAPTER  XXII 
THE  MATERNITY  HOME 

*'nrvHERE'S  a  ring  at  the  bell!     There's  a  ring 

J^         at  the  bell!" 

Ditte  heard  the  call  out  in  the  little  scul- 
lery off  the  kitchen,  where  she  was  tidying  herself  after 
her  dirty  work  was  done.  "There's  a  ring  at  the 
bell!"  she  repeated  in  a  startled  voice,  addressing  the 
nurse  in  the  kitchen.  Miss  Petersen  threw  down  what 
she  had  in  hand,  and  ran  down  the  long  corridor.  A 
few  seconds  later,  she  returned,  breathless.  "It  was 
the  Countess,"  she  ejaculated.  "Do  be  quick.  I  have 
showed  her  into  the  matron's  office  till  you  are  ready." 

Ditte  scurried  into  her  "show  uniform."  It  was  a 
white,  loosely  fitting  frock,with  short  sleeves,  and  a 
low-cut  neck,  with  a  white  cap, — and  hurried  in.  When 
the  visitor  was  shown  in  she  was  sitting  in  a  white 
painted  armchair,  and  the  "Sister"  stood  over  her, 
washing  the  nipple  of  her  bared  breast  with  a  wad  of 
sterilized  cotton-wool  dipped  in  boracic  water  from  a 
white  bowl.  The  lower  part  of  the  walls  of  the  big 
ward  was  paneled  with  white  painted  wood,  easy 
enough  to  wash  over,  for  about  five  feet  up,  and  the 
upper  part  of  the  walls  and  ceiling  were  lime-washed. 
The  ward  was  divided  into  three  parts, — the  show- 
room— the  girls  called  it  among  themselves!  A  few 
white  baby  cots  with  pale  rose-colored  hangings  and  a 

248 


THE  MATERNITY  HOME  249 

couple  of  white  washstands  completed  the  furniture  of 
the  room.  "Sister"  spread  a  white  napkin  carefully 
over  Ditte's  breast.  "There!"  said  she  with  a  sugary 
smile.      "Now  I  will  fetch  the  baby !" 

Not  far  from  Ditte  sat  a  young  girl  in  deep  mourn- 
ing. Her  eyelids  were  drooped  pensively;  but  she 
gazed  at  the  latter  through  the  lashes.  Ditte  well 
knew  that  it  was  distinguished  to  look  through  your 
eyelashes  in  that  way, — nearly  as  distinguished  as  using 
a  lorgnette.  But  it  looked  a  bit  impertinent  too, — to 
look  at  people  and  size  them  up  in  that  way!  She 
looked  sweet  too — and  young, — scarcely  older  than 
Ditte  herself.  She  had  a  long,  black  veil  hanging  down 
her  back.  That  was  to  show  that  she  was  a  widow, 
and  had  been  obliged  to  send  her  baby  away  from  her, 
— her  milk  had  dried  up  from  the  vehemence  of  her 
grief  when  she  lost  her  dear  husband — or  some  such 
story.  But  she  was  not  much  of  a  widow — no  more 
than  Ditte  was — because  she  had  never  been  married! 
But  she  was  a  countess,  and  belonged  to  one  of  the 
most  aristocratic  families  in  the  land — and  had  had  a 
love  affair  with  a  groom.  The  other  girls  knew  the 
whole  story — as  a  matter  of  fact  they  knew  the  history 
of  every  baby  in  the  home  by  heart,  however  compli- 
cated it  might  be,  and  however  carefully  hushed  up — 
aha!  they  could  always  get  on  the  track!  Ditte  could 
not  understand  this  affair  with  a  groom.  If  she  her- 
self had  to  have  a  baby  of  her  own  free  will,  she  would 
choose  a  Count  to  b:  the  father  of  it !  Still,  the  young 
Countess  was  pretty.  Her  face  had  still  the  pallor  that 
comes  after  childbirth,  or  was  it  perhaps  her  false  step 


250        DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

that  was  the  cause  of  it?  The  fine  folks  took  such 
things  rather  more  to  heart  than  others  did.  At  any 
rate,  she  showed  some  affection  for  her  baby  and  vis- 
ited it  every  week.  So  many  others  only  came  here  to 
get  rid  of  theirs,  and  never  showed  their  faces  in  the 
place  again. 

It  was  longer  than  usual  before  the  nurse  came  back 
with  the  baby;  there  had  certainly  been  something  the 
matter, — perhaps  it  was  sore  and  had  to  be  pow- 
dered. Ditte  had  nothing  to  do — the  thing  she  dis- 
liked most  of  all — so  she  fell  into  a  sad  reverie.  So 
many  sad  thoughts  came  knocking  at  the  door  of  her 
heart  when  she  had  leisure.  Suddenly  she  felt  an  arm 
round  her  neck.  'yVnd  how  is  your  own  little  one?" 
asked  the  young  woman  and  laid  her  cheek  against 
Ditte's. 

It  was  a  terrible  question  to  ask  Ditte.  Her  face 
began  to  quiver  and  her  lip  to  tremble.  But  fortu- 
nately the  nurse  came  back  just  then,  "just  look, 
madam,  isn't  he  a  perfect  little  darling?"  said  she  and 
laid  the  baby  in  the  young  mother's  arms.  The  mother 
gazed  adoringly  at  her  little  one,  and  then  laid  it  on 
Ditte's  breast  with  an  enigmatic  expression. 

Ditte  did  not  feel  in  the  least  shy  of  the  Countess, 
she  would  have  liked  to  have  had  a  chat  with  her.  In 
a  way  they  were  companions  in  misfortune,  though  it 
had  smitten  them  in  such  different  ways.  But  the  nurse 
was  always  in  the  room,  walking  to  and  fro.  Every 
minute  she  came  up  to  them,  and  was  all  solicitude  for 
the  baby.  "Slowly,"  she  would  say;  "do  see  that  he 
drinks  slowly."     But  it  was  simply  humbug;  she  was 


THE  MATERNITY  HOME  251 

really  making  secret  signs  to  Ditte  to  take  him  from 
the  breast. 

Ditte  tried  to  make  It  seem  as  if  he  had  let  go  of 
the  nipple  himself.  It  went  to  her  heart  to  do  it;  but 
she  dared  not  disobey.  "He  can't  possibly  have  had 
enough  yet,"  interposed  the  girl  mother,  "he  clings  so 
tightly  to  it.  Wouldn't  it  be  best  to  give  him  the 
other  breast  too?" 

"No.  We  really  must  not  overfeed  him,"  answered 
the  Sister.  "He  would  only  throw  it  all  up  again,  and 
would  not  thrive."  She  took  him  from  the  breast  and 
gave  him  to  his  mother,  who  laid  him  in  his  little  bed. 
The  young  Countess  bent  over  the  cot,  and  when  she 
raised  her  face  again  her  eyes  were  full  of  tears.  Ditte 
felt  a  longing  to  throw  her  arms  round  her  neck,  and 
beg  her  not  to  worry  so  about  it;  for  she  would  see  that 
the  boy  had  as  much  as  he  could  drink.  But  just  then 
the  young  girl  stretched  out  her  hand  to  say  good-by 
and  thanked  them  for  being  so  good  to  her  boy.  She 
slipped  a  dollar  note  into  DItte's  hand.  The  nurse 
showed  her  out,  and  Ditte  went  into  the  inner  room 
and  laid  another  child  to  the  breast. 

The  nurse  came  back  again.  "Thank  goodness  that 
visit  of  inspection  is  over!  Let's  hope  she  didn't 
notice  that  we  took  the  baby  from  the  breast  too 
soon." 

"It  does  seem  a  pity;  he  could  have  taken  a  lot 
more!"  said  Ditte. 

"Then  he  can  finish  off  with  pap  !"  declared  the  nurse. 
"The  others  must  have  their  turn  too — there's  no  such 
thing  as  rank  and  titles  coming  first  in  this  house.     But 


252  DITTE  L  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

it  seems  to  me  you  are  putting  this  baby  to  the  othei 
breast!    Was  the  first  one  really  emptied?" 

Ditte  nodded.  She  didn't  like  to  have  her  breasts 
drained  quite  dry.    It  gave  her  a  backache. 

"Are  you  quite  sure?  Just  let  me  see !"  The  nurse 
squeezed  her  breast.  "We  must  be  economical  now. 
Milk  is  so  dear. — But  didn't  the  Countess  give  you  a 
tip?" 

Reluctantly  enough  Ditte  took  the  note  from  her 
breast  and  gave  it  up.  Miss  Petersen  went  out  of 
the  room,  coming  back  soon  afterwards  with  a  little 
small  change.  "Here  you  are!  This  is  your  share," 
said  she.  She  was  supposed  to  have  gone  to  the  ma- 
tron with  the  tip,  who  divided  it  among  the  girls  ac- 
cording to  their  capabilities  and  length  of  service.  But 
it  might  very  well  be  that  she  gave  a  little  to  the  other 
girls  and  kept  the  rest  herself!  Ditte  was  disap- 
pointed, for  when  she  was  engaged  golden  visions  of 
lavish  tipping  had  been  held  out  to  her,  and  she  could 
well  do  with  a  little.  She  was  to  get  no  pay  until  the 
nine  months  of  her  contract  had  elapsed.  Now  she 
understood  the  reasons  only  too  well.  It  was  to  pre- 
vent her  from  going  off  without  notice.  But  she  made 
up  her  mind  to  tell  the  Countess  what  had  become  of 
her  tip. 

"Don't  you  dare  to  babble  about  things  here  in  the 
clinic  to  any  one, — not  even  among  yourselves  in  the 
kitchen !"  said  the  nurse  suddenly  and  sharply.  Ditte 
cowered  away  and  whispered  a  timid  "No!" 

The  bell  rang,  the  nurse  gave  a  little  shriek  and  ran 
to  open  the  door.     She  was  the  matron's  right  hand 


THE  MATERNITY  HOME  253 

and  it  was  her  duty  to  answer  it.  The  little  shriek 
was  an  imitation  of  the  matron's  manner;  for  she  al- 
ways gasped  and  pressed  her  hand  to  her  heart  when 
the  alarm  bell  rang.  She  had  a  weak  heart!  The 
other  women  all  had  the  same  peculiarity.  The  fact 
was  that  the  flat  itself  was  so  low  in  the  basement  story 
that  the  door-bell  itself  could  not  be  heard,  and  was 
connected  with  an  alarm  bell  at  the  end  of  the  long  cor- 
ridor, and  when  that  began  to  ring  it  made  such  a  din 
that  it  jangled  every  nerve  in  one's  body,  and  one  sim- 
ply had  to  scream,  whether  one  would  or  no.  And  if 
there  was  a  baby  on  one's  lap,  he  began  to  roar  in 
sympathy. 

Except  on  these  occasions  there  was  not  so  much 
crying  as  might  have  been  expected.  The  matron  had 
some  wonderful  soothing  syrup  which  was  just  the  thing 
for  babies. 

But  there  was  always  a  rush  of  visitors.  One  per- 
petual coming  and  going  and  ringing.  What  did  all 
these  people  really  come  for?  Most  of  them  were 
closeted  with  the  matron  in  her  private  room,  which 
was  just  inside  the  front  door;  so  nobody  caught  a 
glimpse  of  them.  Sofia  and  Petra  pretended  they 
knew  what  all  these  people  came  about,  but  would  not 
tell.  "You're  a  greenhorn,  my  dear!"  they  said,  and 
looked  mysterious.  But  this  time  it  was  only  the 
agent  at  the  registry  office.  Ditte  recognized  his  heavy 
step  in  the  corridor,  and  heard  the  nurse's  giggles. 
Whenever  he  saw  an  opportunity  he  was  ready  with  a 
pinch — fat  pig  that  he  was ! 

Well,  that  meant  that  the  matron  was  going  out  with 


254        DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

the  agent  for  the  evening,  and  would  leave  Miss  Peter- 
sen in  charge.  And  scarcely  were  they  out  of  the 
house  before  the  nurse  called  the  girls  and  said:  "I  am 
just  going  out  for  a  few  minutes,  so  you  will  see  after 
things  while  I  am  away.  But  be  sure  you  stay  down 
here  the  whole  time.  Remember  it  is  a  great  respon- 
sibility to  be  left  in  charge." — "Yes,  we  will  do  that!" 
they  answered  glibly,  and  as  soon  as  she  was  gone  they 
flew  up  to  their  room  and  began  to  dress.  So  Ditte 
was  obliged  to  go  down  and  open  the  street  door  for 
them, — and  then  she  was  alone  with  the  whole  on  her 
shoulders.  Not  only  had  she  to  look  after  the  babies; 
but  there  was  a  big  tub  full  of  napkins  to  wash,  and 
a  patient  to  see  to;  the  latter  lay  in  the  inner  ward, 
and  had  come  six  months  too  soon!  But  that  was 
always  the  way  of  things — everything  was  put  upon  her 
— Ditte — everything!  She  was  now  fed  up  with  the 
whole  business,  and  her  chief  wish  was  to  pack  up  and 
get  away  as  quietly  as  she  could. 

Ditte  had  already  had  many  experiences  without 
drawing  the  usual  conclusions  from  them.  She  took 
the  buffetings  of  Fate  for  what  they  were  worth,  and 
never  thought  of  fathering  them  on  any  one  else — not 
even  on  the  people  who  had  called  them  down  on  her 
devoted  head.  She  was  by  nature  exceedingly  long- 
suffering;  it  was  her  chief  virtue;  things  had  to  come 
to  a  pretty  pass  before  she  began  to  criticize  and  try 
to  correct  them. 

But  here  her  good-nature  was  too  far  imposed  upon; 
she  was  neither  stupid  nor  foolishly  kind — when  it  came 
to  the  point.     She  had  borne  a  child,  and  say  what  you 


THE  MATERNITY  HOME  255 

will,  in  her  class  that  was  nothing  uncommon.  She 
had  also  been  obliged  to  part  with  it  to  strangers;  but 
that  was  also  in  the  usual  run  of  things.  All  this  was 
the  common  lot  of  the  poor,  and  might  be  said  to  come 
under  the  law  of  Nature.  But  that  dainty  ladies 
should  also  make  a  slip,  and  bear  children  out  of  the 
marriage-bed — real  ladies,  not  just  farmers'  daughters, 
for  she  knew  of  several  cases  among  these, — well,  that 
was  something  she  had  never  as  much  as  dreamed  of! 
But  they  managed  it  quite  all  right;  they  came  to  the 
clinic  and  were  operated  on  for  some  trumped-up  mal- 
ady,— just  like  the  landowner's  daughter  that  was 
here  when  Ditte  came. — Her  people  related  how  she 
had  fallen  downstairs  and  fractured  the  coccyx; 
she  lay  there  in  bed  and  made  a  joke  of  the 
whole  matter. 

No,  Ditte  did  not  take  things  on  trust  any  longer, 
and  began  to  put  two  and  two  together.  Her  expe- 
rience in  the  maternity  home  threw  light  on  many  a 
mysterious  happening  in  her  past.  She  had  crept  be- 
hind the  scenes  once  for  all,  and  seen  many  things  in  a 
totally  new  light.  She  perceived  that  the  upper  classes 
were  no  better  than  her  own  class;  that  was  merely  a 
delusion.  While  these  fine  ladies  were  lying  here, 
screaming  in  the  birthpangs,  they  were  supposed  to  be 
either  attending  courses  in  Copenhagen  or  on  a  jour- 
ney to  Paris.  Aha !  The  bitter  pill  followed  the 
sweet  taste  in  their  case  also;  the  midwife  had  used 
that  expression  to  her;  but  it  applied  to  them  still 
better. 

She  was  so  much  the  wiser  now.     But  something 


256         DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

still  worried  her.  Her  conception  of  upper  and  lower 
was  distorted  and  her  sense  of  justice  shaken.  She 
could  reconcile  it  with  the  justice  of  things  to  give  up 
her  child  as  a  punishment  for  her  sin,  and  also  that 
both  she  and  it  must  suffer  to  help  those  who  had  not 
so  sinned;  but  why  her  milk  should  be  taken  from 
her  own  child  and  given  to  those  who  were  equally 
"children  of  sin" :  that  was  indeed  an  enigma  to 
her. 

One  evening  when  they  were  all  up  In  their  room, 
she  tried  to  talk  to  Sofia  and  Petra  about  it.  But  they 
only  laughed  at  her  and  turned  the  whole  thing  into 
a  farce.  "Are  you  crazy?"  asked  Sofia.  "Why  should 
they  be  better  than  us?  They  have  money;  that's  the 
most  important  thing!  Do  you  think  that  any  young 
girl,  who  was  in  the  family  way,  would  put  up  with  the 
gibes  of  the  street  boys,  and  the  old  people's  abuse,  and 
all  the  rest  of  it,  if  she  could  find  a  way  out  of  it? 
Many  a  time  when  I  went  down  the  street  I  only 
longed  to  bewitch  some  one  to  take  what  I  was  carry- 
ing off  me.  Men  think  nothing  of  leaving  you  in  the 
lurch — but  we  have  to  stick  it  out,  and  must  be  glad 
to  get  even  such  a  hole  as  this  is.  Justice  is  all  hum- 
bug, and  you  can  just  say  I  said  so !" 

Whatever  might  be  said  about  Justice,  Ditte's  duty 
was  absolutely  clear.  But  it  was  hard  to  nurse  strange 
children  and  let  them  drain  her  life's  strength  from 
her,  while  thinking  of  her  own  that  lay  and  wept  among 
strangers  and  had  to  be  content  with  a  dummy  teat  and 
a  bottle. 

Ditte  brooded  over  this  and  fretted  after  her  baby; 


THE  MATERNITY  HOME  257 

every  time  she  laid  a  child  to  her  breast,  her  longing 
broke  out  anew.  She  was  bitterly  disappointed  too; 
everything  was  so  utterly  different  from  what  had  been 
promised  to  Lars  Peter  and  herself  when  she  was  en- 
gaged. They  had  understood  that  she  was  to  be  wet- 
nurse  in  an  aristocratic  household  where  the  lady  was 
too  delicate  and  too  refined  to  nurse  her  own  baby. 
She  was  to  have  her  uniform  free,  and  always  go  about 
clad  in  white.  And  here  she  was  !  "A  milch-cow  on  a 
baby  farm!" 

Sofia  had  nicknamed  her  thus.  Ditte  did  not  like 
it,  but  employed  the  expression  herself  when  she  felt 
most  bitter;  in  order  to  revenge  herself  on  everything 
and  everybody.  The  white  uniform  was  only  worn 
when  visitors  were  there;  otherwise  it  was  one  round 
of  dirty  work,  and  nursing  the  babies  in  between  times. 
There  were  no  free  evenings  either,  and  they  were  all 
three  engaged  on  the  condition  that  they  were  to  have 
no  really  free  time  during  their  period  of  service.  The 
matron  said  it  was  to  avoid  the  risk  of  bringing  infec- 
tion into  the  clinic;  but  Sofia  and  Petra  declared  it  was 
to  prevent  them  talkng  of  the  condition  of  things  there 
outside.  Every  afternoon  the  nurse  took  two  of  them 
for  a  walk,  while  the  third  looked  after  the  clinic  under 
the  watchful  eye  of  the  matron;  so  they  all  got  fresh 
air  at  least, 

Sofia  and  Petra  went  on  their  little  jaunts  the  nights 
Ditte  was  in  charge;  and  she  had  to  be  on  the  lookout, 
and  downstairs,  to  let  them  in  when  they  made  a  signal. 
Ditte  thought  them  rather  cheeky,  and  they  often  made 
fun  of  her  country  ways,  but  op  the  whole  they  were 


258         DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

good-natured  and  helpful  to  her,  and  she  got  on  well 
with  them.  But  neither  of  them  ever  thought  of  tak- 
ing her  out.  They  thought  there  was  not  enough  go 
in  her  I 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

THE  ANGELS 

*'"¥"  ITTLE  darlings!  They  shall  have  sunshine  I'* 
I  J  said  the  matron,  and  pushed  the  children's  cots 
over  to  the  window,  where  a  few  weak  rays 
fell  on  the  floor.  Yes,  it  would  be  called  sunshine 
there,  and  when  the  window  was  opened,  and  the  gas- 
works opposite  wafted  their  perfumed  clouds  of  smoke 
into  the  room,  it  was  called  fresh  air. 

Ditte  and  Mrs.  Bram  were  at  home  alone.  Petra 
and  Sofia  had  gone  for  their  walk  with  the  nurse.  Ditte 
went  hither  and  thither,  arranging  things  and  giving  an 
eye  to  the  babies.  Mrs.  Bram  leant  back  in  an  arm- 
chair, and  babbled  incessantly.  There  was  not  more 
work  than  Ditte  could  well  do;  the  children  were  only 
four  in  number  just  then,  and  they  were  certainly  not 
accustomed  to  being  spoiled.  One  had  just  died,  and 
a  couple  had  disappeared  for  a  time — to  be  boarded 
out  somewhere  or  other.  "Oh  no,  we  have  sometimes 
had  as  many  as  twenty  here,"  said  Mrs.  Bram,  "things 
have  been  rather  at  a  standstill  lately — we  have  had 
one  or  two  little  accidents — and  people  are  so  suspi- 
cious."    She  looked  confidingly  at  Ditte. 

She  had  eyes  just  like  a  dog — nice  faithful  dog's  eyes, 
that  never  expressed  either  anger  or  any  other  feel- 
ing. Fear  alone  sometimes  shone  in  them.  Her  figure 
was  shapeless  and  flabby;  the  skin  of  her  hands  loose 

259 


26o        DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

and  hanging.  Ditte  liked  her  well  enough,  and  could 
never  see  what  the  other  girls  found  so  bad  in  her. 
She  had  asthma,  and  wheezed  when  she  drew  a  deep 
breath — and  was  always  dressed  in  a  black  silk  dress, 
and  looked  so  simple  and  worried,  as  if  she  understood 
nothing  at  all. 

"Dear,  sweet  little  angels !"  she  said.  "My  fiance 
sometimes  scolds  me  for  not  giving  up  my  work  here 
at  the  clinic.  You  know,  don't  you,  that  the  registry 
agent  is  my  fiance?  We  are  only  spending  money, 
he  says,  and  really  one  gets  no  thanks  for  all  one's 
trouble.  But  when  the  legal  time  of  separation  is  up, 
we  are  going  to  the  South  of  Europe  to  live — the  air 
there  is  so  good  for  asthma.  Yes,  we  shall  get  mar- 
ried first.  You  know,  don't  you,  that  one  has  to  wait 
three  years  before  one  can  get  leave  to  marry  again? 
Ah,  yes!  That  is  lest  there  should  be  something  on 
the  way  from  the  first  marriage." 

"Something  on  the  way?  Three  years?"  Ditte 
could  scarcely  restrain  a  smile. 

"Oh,  well!  One  knows  well  enough  that  people 
can't  always  keep  away  from  each  other,  because  they 
are  separated.     Oh,  yes!     Dear  little  things!" 

There  was  a  ring  at  the  door.  Mrs.  Bram  had  to 
clutch  at  her  heart.  It  startled  her  so  that  she  could 
scarcely  rise. 

Ditte  tip-toed  into  the  "showroom"  and  listened  at 
the  wall  of  the  matron's  office.  She  heard  young 
voices,  a  man's  voice  a  little  hushed — talking  for  a 
long  time,  and  a  girl's  voice,  which  now  and  then  broke 
into  the  discussion  with  sobs.     But  she  could  distin- 


THE  ANGELS  261 

j^ish  few  or  no  words.  "But  can't  you  take  it  away?*' 
said  the  manly  voice  out  loud.  "Oh,  do,  do !  Only 
help  me !"  said  the  woman's  voice,  and  broke  into  bit- 
ter weeping.  Then  there  was  silence  and  Ditte  tip- 
toed back  again. 

Shortly  after  they  came  into  the  "showroom." 
Ditte  could  see  them  through  the  open  door — a  very 
young  woman,  so  pale,  so  pale,  whose  eyes  were  red- 
rimmed  with  tears,  and  a  man  a  little  older  in  a  frock- 
coat.     He  looked  like  a  priest  or  a  curate. 

"Yes,  you  can't  have  this  room,"  said  the  matron, 
"for  the  sweet  little  babies  sleep  here;  but  you  shall 
have  a  quiet  sunny  room." 

"Yes,  yes,"  sniffed  the  young  girl;  "yes,  yes!"  Her 
friend  held  her  hand,  as  if  to  protect  her  against  ail 
ill. 

"And  nothing  will  ever  come  out — is  that  certain?" 
asked  he. 

"You  can  make  your  mind  easy  about  that,"  an- 
swered the  matron.  "We  are  still  as  the  grave  here. 
But  you  must  let  us  know  in  good  time  when  you 
are  coming;  we  are  always  full  up." 

When  the  matron  came  in,  Ditte  was  standing  in 
the  long  dark  corridor  near  the  kitchen  door.  "May 
I  go  for  a  few  minutes?"  she  asked.  She  rushed  up 
the  backstairs  to  her  room,  threw  herself  down  on  her 
bed,  buried  her  face  in  the  pillow  and  shuddered.  The 
whole  thing  was  so  horrible — ^the  poor  tor^Jred  girl, 
and  the  man  who  had  held  her  hand! — and  herself! — 
she  could  not  bear  it!  She  lay  there  in  tearless  grief 
from  sympathy  for  the  unhappy  girl  who  was  going 


262         DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

through  so  much  mental  agony,  and  also  from  self-pity 
that  she  had  had  no  one  to  hold  her  hand.  And  a 
deep  longing  arose  in  her  for  all  that  she  had  lefj 
behind, — father  and  brothers  and  sister, — and  her 
child,  her  own  little  child.  Oh,  how  horrible  life  was! 
She  could  not  weep  one  tear, — only  shudder  inwardly. 
"Take  it  away !  Take  it  away !"  reechoed  again  and 
again,  in  her  ears.  And  a  new  horror  that  had  slum- 
bered in  her  heart  came  suddenly  to  light.  Her  granny 
had  often  hinted  to  her  when  a  child  that  it  was  a 
good  thing  that  they  had  not  succeeded  in  preventing 
little  Ditte  from  coming  into  the  world  after  all. 
''What  would  a  poor  devil  like  me  have  done,  if  1 
hadn't  had  you  to  comfort  me?"  she  would  burst  out 
suddenly,  and  begin  to  weep  tears  half  of  gratitude,  half 
of  fear.  Ditte  could  distinctly  remember  how  myste- 
rious it  all  had  sounded  when  they  talked  of  preventing 
her  from  coming  into  the  world. 

She  had  fancied  something  like  the  kitchen  door  be- 
ing shut  on  her  so  that  she  couldn't  get  in  to  Granny; 
but  would  have  to  stand  in  the  night  outside  and  weep. 
But  was  it  anything  of  this  sort  ?  Had  they  really  tried 
to  prevent  her  from  coming  into  the  world  after  all? 
Ditte  felt  cold  all  over  at  this  thought.  She  was  ille- 
gitimate too,  and  poor  as  well — for  her  and  her  like 
there  v/ere  no  maternity  homes.  They  could  only  just 
take  it  away,  or  put  up  with  the  evil  consequences. 

The  bell  over  the  bed  rang  loud  and  long.  Ditte 
jumped  up  and  hurried  down  to  her  work. 

It  was  not  amusing,  and  yet  after  this  discovery  she 
could  not  but  feel  a  secret  delight  that  they  had  not 


THE  ANGELS  263 

succeeded  in  keeping  her  out  of  existence.  What 
would  Lars  Peter  and  the  small  sister  and  brothers  have 
done  without  her?  And  only  think  if  she  had  nevei; 
seen  the  light  of  day  I  For  Ditte  was  by  no  means 
tired  of  life. 

But  she  wept  a  good  deal  in  secret.  Tears  welled 
up  in  her  every  time  she  laid  one  of  the  strange  chil- 
dren to  her  breast.  She  had  to  restrain  them  then; 
but  they  came  back  again  and  again  when  she  was 
alone.  It  eased  her  to  cry, — cleared  some  of  the  dark- 
ness from  her  soul. 

Sometimes  too  she  felt  a  sudden  hate  or  rather  ran- 
cor against  the  women  who  shook  their  own  children 
from  them,  and  yet  took  hers  from  her.  But  it  would 
have  needed  a  hard  heart  to  nourish  a  spite  when  she 
had  one  of  the  little  helpless  things  in  her  arms, — a 
harder  heart  than  Ditte  had  ever  possessed. 

It  was  more  difficult  than  Ditte  had  imagined  to  get 
accustomed  to  town  life.  She  had  never  felt  so  lonely 
as  here  where  there  were  people  in  plenty;  and  then 
there  were  no  animals,  not  even  a  cat  to  come  and  rub 
her  back  against  you  and  beg  for  a  dainty  morsel.  The 
days  were  dark  and  gray  in  more  senses  than  one; 
nearly  all  the  winter  they  had  to  have  a  light  in  the 
kitchen,  even  in  the  middle  of  the  day.  From  the 
windows  were  nothing  but  gray  house-fronts,  water- 
pipes,  and  an  endless  sea  of  roofs  and  chimneys.  Yet 
there  were  streets  like  gardens  of  light  with  glowing 
shops,  where  all  the  glories  of  the  world  were  exposed 
to  view.     Ditte  had  heard  of  them  long  before  she 


264        DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

came  here,  and  had  herself  seen  them  In  dreams.  But 
she  would  have  liked  to  see  them  with  her  fleshly  eyes 
too,  and  perhaps  go  in  and  buy  in  them.  She  would 
buy  toys  for  her  brothers  and  sister,  and  when  her  term 
of  service  was  up  and  she  got  her  wages,  then —  This 
was  her  chief  solace  in  every  need, — so  many  wonderful 
things  would  happen  when  she  got  her  wages. 

"You!"  scoffed  Sofia.  "You  will  never  get  any 
wages.  You  are  too  stupidly  good  for  that.  Do  you 
think  we  shall  be  allowed  to  go  here  and  wear  out  our 
strength  and  lose  our  color,  and  get  wages  into  the 
bargain  ?  Now  I  will  tell  you  what  will  happen.  They 
will  make  it  as  hot  as  hell  for  me,  hoping  that  I  shall 
get  so  sick  of  it  that  I  shan't  be  able  to  stick  it  out, 
and  go  off  before  my  time  is  up,  and  so  lose  my  wages. 
Do  you  think  I  can't  see  their  little  game?  No,  trust 
me !  Here  I  have  been  and  stuck  it  out  for  eight 
months,  and  so  I  can  do  the  same  for  the  ninth.  And 
if  they  try  me  too  far — "  She  shook  her  head  threat- 
eningly. 

"Yes,  but  what  can  you  do  ?  They  have  both  might 
and  right  on  their  side."  Ditte  v/as  thinking  of  the 
Hill  Farm. 

"I  shall  just  ask  for  my  wages,  and  threaten  to  re- 
port them.  Perhaps  they  wouldn't  be  so  delighted  at 
that.  Yes,  I  should  ask  for  my  full  wages  and  per- 
haps board-wages  as  well.  My  sweetheart  says  I 
should.     The  very  idea  !" 

It  was  not  very  long  before  Sofia  came  into  conflict 
with  her  mistress  for  good  and  all.  There  was  no 
doubt  about  her  being  put  upon, — especially  by  the 


THE  ANGELS  265 

nurse;  every  day  she  heaped  reproaches  on  ner  for 
having  no  milk  any  longer.  It  came  to  a  climax  at  last 
— Sofia  flung  the  things  on  the  floor  and  demanded 
to  know  what  was  the  meaning  of  it  all.  If  they 
;wanted  her  to  go,  then  she  would  do  so  at  once. 

The  Sister  called  the  others  to  witness  such  goings 
on,  and  refused  to  give  her  a  penny.  But  an  hour 
afterwards  came  a  ring  at  the  door,  and  there  stood 
Sofia  and  her  sweetheart;  and  the  matron  was  obliged 
to  put  the  best  face  on  the  matter  and  ask  them  into 
her  office. 

And  shortly  after  Sofia  came  marching  into  the 
*'showroom"  with  arms  akimbo,  exulting  and  trium- 
phant. "I  suppose  I've  a  right  to  say  a  proper  good-by 
to  the  other  girls !"  said  she  and  waved  a  two-hundred- 
crown  note.  It  was  awfully  thrilling!  Ditte  grew  hot 
and  cold:  she  could  never  have  believed  that  a  poor  girl 
like  that  could  ride  the  high  horse  over  her  mistress. 

"It's  because  she  knows  a  lot  too  much  about  the  rot- 
ten goings-on  here,"  said  Petra  phlegmatically. 

As  no  other  girl  came  in  her  place,  Ditte  and  Petra 
had  to  look  after  the  four  children;  Ditte  being  the 
last  to  give  birth  had  the  chief  onus  of  it  on  her  shoul- 
ders. Fortunately  there  were  no  new  patients  either. 
Petra  suggested  that  they  might  be  getting  ready  to 
close  the  clinic. 

"They  are  awfully  afraid  of  Sofia — she  knew  too 
much!"  she  said. 

What  could  it  be  that  Sofia  and  Petra  both  knew 
so  much  about;  but  of  which  she  was  stiU  in  ignorance? 
She  could  well  see  that  a  great  deal — nay,  most  of  what 


266         DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

went  on,  was  not  right.  "The  dear  babies!"  they 
would  exclaim.  "The  sweet  little  darlings!"  But  in 
reality  for  all  that  concerned  the  children's  welfare 
they  were  cold  and  calculating,  and  they  did  not  care 
an  atom  for  them.  But  there  must  be  something  else, 
some  mysterious  horror  that  Ditte  lacked  ability  to 
grasp,  all  untutored  as  she  was — she  felt  it  must  be  so. 
She  had  dark  intuitions  of  this  terror,  but  missed  their 
significance.  No  one  felt  well  in  the  home;  patients 
tried  to  get  up  and  away  as  quickly  as  possible.  A 
deep  mysterious  secrecy  brooded  over  it,  and  shrouded 
the  inmates  in  gloom.  The  Sister  and  Mrs.  Bram  were 
always  irritable,  and  in  a  state  of  nervous  excitement. 
And  then  this  mysterious  coming  and  going.  Most 
of  it  took  place  in  the  evening — women  bringing  and 
fetching  babies, — veiled  ladies  accompanied  by  gentle- 
men. 

There  was  always  some  fresh  surprise  for  Ditte. 
Babies  disappeared  as  If  caught  up  to  Heaven — no 
doubt  they  were  sent  away  to  be  boarded  out; 
and  others  appeared  to  have  rained  down  from 
Heaven  into  the  very  cradles!  One  baby  would  be 
lying  there  in  the  morning  when  Ditte  came  down — 
quite  a  different  child  from  the  one  that  had  lain  there 
the  night  before  when  she  went  up  to  bed. 

Sometimes  indeed  they  pretended  it  was  the  same 
one;  but  DItte  was  not  to  be  taken  in, — each  child  had 
its  own  special  little  way  of  taking  the  breast.  Some- 
times, too,  a  baby  died.  Whenever  that  happened 
Ditte  was  genuinely  grieved;  it  seemed  so  sad  to  see 
the  little  waxen  baby  figure  lying  there  like  a  snuffed 


THE  ANGELS  267 

out  candle.  She  had  a  shuddering  dread  of  death. 
Sofia  and  Petra  were  not  so  much  In  love  with  exist- 
ence. "Perhaps  it  is  better  off  than  we  after  all!" 
they  often  said.      "It  has  missed  many  a  sorrow!" 

Sometimes  a  baby  disappeared  for  a  day  or  two, 
and  then  as  suddenly  reappeared.  It  was  always  said 
to  have  been  at  the  children's  hospital  for  examination. 
But  Ditte  knew  better  now.  It  had  been  lent  out  for 
some  lawsuit  concerning  paternity  or  inheritance,  where 
there  was  something  fishy.  If  all  went  well,  the  ma- 
tron got  half  of  what  was  going. 

"She  is  really  disgusting!"  said  Ditte.  "To  do  such 
things  for  money!" 

"She's  an  awful  fool!"  declared  Petra,  "for  she 
doesn't  ever  get  the  money  herself,  the  agent  takes 
every  penny  of  it.  He  owns  the  business  and  makes 
up  to  her  only  to  get  her  completely  under  his  thumb." 
Petra  would  jabber  away,  but  at  a  certain  point  she 
always  stopped  and  would  say  no  more.  She  was  a 
child  of  the  slums,  and  had  learnt  to  keep  a  quiet 
tongue  in  her  head  when  it  was  to  her  advantage  to 
do  so. 

Ditte  had  resolved  to  make  off  on  the  first  oppor- 
tunity. She  could  bear  it  no  longer.  She  sat  up  in 
her  attic,  and  wrote  to  Lars  Peter  trying  to  excuse 
herself.  It  was  regarded  as  a  crime  to  run  away  from 
service  in  her  family,  and  she  knew  it  would  upset  him 
a  lot.  It  was  late  at  night  and  she  was  dead  beat. 
Her  pen  would  make  blots,  and  she  could  not  remem- 
ber if  "washing"  was  spelt  with  or  without  an  "h." 


268        DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

Petra  came  up  just  then.  "Oh,  the  little  angels! 
Oh,  the  dear  sweet  little  angels !"  she  mimicked  as  she 
crossed  the  room  and  flung  herself  on  the  bed. 

"Have  you  just  come  up  without  leave  ?  Aren't  you 
in  charge?"  asked  Ditte.      "Have  they  gone  out?" 

"No,  the  matron  said  I  might  go  up  and  sleep,  and 
she  would  look  after  things." 

"That's  funny!     What  does  it  mean?" 

"That  I'm  not  wanted  down  below.  Ugh,  how 
beastly  it  all  is!"     She  lay  making  grimaces. 

"Why  are  you  so  odd,  and  why  do  you  lie  there 
pulling  faces?" 

"What  business  is  it  of  yours  ?  You  attend  to  your 
love-letter,"  answered  Petra,  and  turned  her  face  to 
the  wall.  A  second  later  she  sprang  up.  "Now  I  am 
going  to  bed,  and  the  devil  take  the  whole  lot  of  them !" 
said  she  and  began  to  undress. 

Ditte  struggled  on.  She  was  never  much  of  a 
scholar  and  the  little  she  had  learnt  was  forgotten. 
"How  do  you  make  a  capital  'D'  ?"  she  asked. 

"Do  you  think  I  know?  Just  make  a  flourish.  He 
will  understand  it  all  right." 

"I'm  writing  hom.e,"  said  Ditte.  "And  I  have  no 
sweetheart." 

"A  baby  and  no  sweetheart!  You're  a  nice  one! 
The  other  way  on  is  better  fun."    Then  she  fell  asleep. 

Ditte  sealed  up  her  envelope,  and  hid  it  under  the 
tablecloth  till  there  was  an  opportunity  of  posting  it. 
She  could  not  give  it  to  the  nurse,  for  then  she  knew 
it  would  never  be  posted.  She  lay  awhile  thinking  of 
her  new  breast  baby,  a  sweet  little  girl  with  golden 


THE  ANGELS  269 

curls  whom  she  had  already  begun  to  love.  It  was 
the  proper  time  to  feed  her  now ;  but  she  dared  not  go 
down  uncalled.  They  would  ring  soon  enough  when 
they  wanted  her. 

When  she  came  down  next  morning  there  was  a 
strange  smell  in  the  place.  The  nurse  was  decorating 
a  little  coffin.  The  matron  came  out,  and  walked  to 
and  fro,  sniffing  into  her  pocket-handkerchief.  "Oh, 
the  poor,  poor  little  angel !"  she  moaned.  The  doctor, 
a  friend  of  theirs,  was  already  there  writing  out  a 
death  certificate.  It  was  Ditte's  new  breast-baby  that 
had  died.  She  lay  looking  so  lovely  with  a  halo  of 
golden  curls  round  the  baby  face.  Her  eyes  were 
only  half  shut,  as  if  no  one  was  to  know  she  was  peep- 
ing at  Ditte.     It  was  too  heart-breaking  for  words. 

Ditte  laid  a  trembling  hand  on  the  baby's  head,  and 
bent  down  to  kiss  it  farewell.  No  one  was  looking; 
she  might  quite  well  kiss  it.  The  nurse  was  pouring 
out  a  glass  of  port  for  the  doctor.  "So  early  in  the 
morning!"  she  heard  him  say  in  husky  tones  as  he 
drank.     His  hand  was  shaky. 

And  Ditte's  hand  shook  as  well.  Under  the  baby's 
curls,  buried  deep  in  the  fontanelle,  she  had  felt  the 
head  of  a  large  pin.  She  gave  one  shriek  and  fell 
senseless  to  the  ground. 

That  evening  she  fled  from  the  place.  Petra  helped 
her  down  to  the  front  door  with  her  iew  goods  and 
chattels  and  gave  her  the  address  of  a  family  in  Adel 
Street,  a  laborer  called  Jensen,  where  she  could  take 
refuge. 

The  following  day  Petra  turned  up  herself — she  had 


270        DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

also  made  off.  "You  can't  imagine  how  glad  they 
were  when  you  hooked  it,"  said  she.  "They've  saved 
your  wages.  If  I  were  you,  I  would  go  and  ask  for 
them,  and  threaten  them  with  the  police.      T  did!" 

But  Ditte  would  not  hear  of  setting  foot  in  that 
hell  again — not  for  all  the  money  in  the  world. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 
DITTE  MAKES  ONE  OF  THE  FAMILY 

DITTE  spent  the  night  with  Petra's  friends,  they 
were  working  people  who  lived  in  one  of  the 
oldest  houses  in  Adel  Street  at  the  back  of 
the  courtyard,  all  crowded  together  Into  one  room.  She 
had  seldom  or  never  seen  a  smaller  or  more  dilapidated 
dwelling  place.  The  little  room  was  divided  into  two 
compartments — one  corner  was  partitioned  off  to  serve 
as  a  kitchen,  and  was  not  larger  than  an  ordinary  sized 
table.  On  the  other  side  of  the  room  was  a  sort  of 
recess  where  the  husband  and  wife  slept,  with  Petra's 
little  baby,  which  she  had  put  out  to  nurse  there,  be- 
tween them.  Their  own  two  children  had  beds  made 
up  on  chairs,  and  as  a  great  favor  Ditte  was  allowed 
to  sleep  on  the  high  backed  sofa,  one  of  their  most 
cherished  possessions.  It  was  covered  with  red  plush, 
and  smelt  of  moldy  stuffing;  they  were  paying  for  it  on 
the  instalment  system.  Everything  else  in  the  place 
smelt  of  mold  and  decay.  It  was  a  rotten  old  hole, 
and  between  the  wainscoting  and  the  sunken  floor  was 
a  gap  of  several  inches.  Every  evening  the  remains  of 
the  day's  food  had  to  be  hidden  between  two  plates  to 
prevent  the  rats  eating  it  in  the  night. 

As  Ditte  was  helping  the  two  little  girls  to  dress  in 
the  morning  they  could  not  find  a  garter;  the  rats  had 
pulled  It  half  under  the  wainscoting.     "Yes,  this  is  how 

271 


272         DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

we  poor  must  live  1"  said  the  young  wife,  who  was 
dressing  by  the  window.  "This  is  the  wonderful  life 
we  strive  after  in  our  youth — lice  in  the  hair  and  rats 
under  the  floor!  Yes,  indeed,  if  I  had  the  luck  to  be 
in  your  place,  I  would  try  and  go  back  to  the  country 
before  it  was  too  late.  At  least  one  has  room  to 
move  there.  But  naturally  I  am  talking  to  deaf 
ears!" 

She  was  indeed!  Ditte  had  no  thought  of  going 
home,  and  being  laughed  at  for  a  failure. 

The  woman  went  with  Ditte  to  one  of  the  big  news- 
paper offices  where  the  advertisements  were  spread  out 
in  the  window  to  see  if  she  could  get  a  place.  "You 
won't  get  a  really  decent  one  now,"  she  said.  "But 
you  had  better  take  what  you  can  get  for  the  present. 
For  when  the  gentry  change  out  of  the  proper  time,  it 
is  seldom  a  good  place." 

Ditte  fixed  on  an  offer  from  a  young  married  couple 
— an  officer^s  family.  The  wages  were  very  low;  but 
in  compensation  the  girl  was  to  be  "treated  as  one  of 
the  family.'*  That  appealed  to  her. — "I'm  so  lonely 
up  here,"  she  said. 

Mrs.  Jensen  was  less  enthusiastic.  "I  always  pre- 
ferred high  wages  to  being  well  treated,"  she  said. 
*'The  special  consideration  one  has  to  sacrifice  money 
for  is  not  worth  having.  We  know  what  being  'one 
of  the  family'  means.  Do  pigs  ever  get  into  a  palace 
except  to  be  eaten?" 

No,  perhaps  not;  but  Ditte  was  not  in  a  position  to 
pick  and  choose,  and  after  all  she  was  not  to  be  fixed 
up  for  life,     They  went  up  to  AA  Boulevard  to  see 


DITTE  MAKES  ONE  OF  THE  FAMILY  273 

about  the  place,  and  Ditte  was  engaged  and  entered 
upon  her  duties  on  the  spot. 

So  that  trouble  was  over;  she  could  begin  afresh. 
There  was  a  baby  boy  of  five  or  six  months  in  the 
house.  There  had  been  nothing  about  him  in  the  ad- 
vertisement, and  the  lady  had  not  mentioned  him 
either;  perhaps  she  preferred  Ditte  to  make  the  dis- 
covery unaided.  Truth  to  tell,  Ditte  had  had  about 
enough  of  babies  by  now;  she  would  not  have  objected 
to  a  little  more  freedom.  But  it  was  too  late  to  change 
now.  And  the  place  seemed  easy  enough; — a  small 
flat,  and  the  lieutenant  was  out  on  his  rounds  of  the 
forts  a  lot.  And  the  lady  helped  in  all  the  work 
herself. 

The  young  wife  was  a  great  chatterbox,  and  Ditte 
soon  learned  that  her  father  kept  a  shop  in  the  prov- 
incial town  where  the  lieutenant  had  been  quartered, 
and  that  he  often  sent  his  daughter  hampers  to  help 
towards  the  housekeeping.  "But  for  goodness'  sake 
don't  ever  let  my  husband  know  that;  his  honor  as  an 
officer  forbids  him  to  accept  any  such  material  help, 
and  I  am  supposed  to  be  able  to  keep  house  on  what 
he  gives  me.  Of  course  he  thinks  me  much  more  won- 
derful than  I  am,  and  naturally  I  let  him  go  on  think- 
ing so!  Do  you  like  soldiers?  I  think  his  uniform  is 
one  of  the  handsomest  I  ever  saw;  and  you  should  just 
see  how  my  husband  sets  it  off!" 

Truly  Ditte's  wages  were  not  large:  fifteen  crowns  a 
month.  "We  can't  afford  more,"  said  the  lady,  "for 
officers  are  so  badly  paid.  My  husband  says  things 
have  always  been  like  that.      They  have  to  sacrifice 


274        DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

their  very  lifeblood  for  their  country,  and  get  small 
thanks  for  it  in  return.  But  then  of  course  we  have 
the  honor  of  it!"  In  compensation  for  the  smallness 
of  the  salary,  Ditte  was  treated  as  one  of  the  family; 
she  slept  on  a  couch  in  the  dining-room  and  had  the 
baby  with  her  all  night. 

"We  have  absolutely  no  servant's  room  to  the  flat," 
said  the  lady,  "and  so  my  husband  says  if  the  girl  has 
to  sleep  in  the  dining-room,  then  she  really  must  be 
regarded  as  one  of  the  family,  and  have  the  baby  at 
night. — He  can't  bear  having  the  baby  in  the  bedroom  ! 
It  prevents  him  from  feeling  newly  married  any  more 
he  thinks.  But  you  don't  mind  a  bit,  do  you? — And  it 
shows  our  confidence  in  you!  Besides  you  will  learn  a 
lot.  That  has  always  to  be  taken  into  consideration 
with  regard  to  pay.  In  all  the  other  trades  one  has  to 
pay  to  be  apprenticed;  but  a  servant  girl  is  paid  while 
she  is  learning." 

Thus  she  prattled  on  while  they  worked  about  the 
house.  She  was  a  plump  little  thing,  with  fat  rosy 
cheeks,  and  was  sweet  and  natural  and  friendly,  but 
she  was  certainly  not  capable.  Ditte  really  thought 
she  was  a  terrible  muddler.  Just  when  Ditte  was  wash- 
ing the  floor  she  would  have  to  leave  her  work  to  take 
the  baby  out.  "He  is  to  be  a  soldier,  and  so  he  must 
be  a  lot  in  the  open  air,"  the  mistress  would  say,  "1 
will  finish  your  work  for  you."  But  when  Ditte  came 
back  nothing  was  done  all  the  same;  the  young  wife 
only  flitted  about  from  one  thing  to  another.  She  was 
no  cook  either.  Every  day  they  had  either  sausage  or 
rissoles   bought   ready   made.      "My   husband   ought 


DITTE  MAKES  ONE  OF  THE  FAMILY  275 

really  to  have  been  here  to-day"  the  lady  used  to  say  as 
they  were  having  dinner.  "He  appreciates  good  food 
so  much!" 

Ditte  became  quite  curious  to  see  him;  if  he  was  like 
her  mistress's  descriptions  he  must  be  funny,  thought 
she.  Life  was  new  to  her,  and  she  made  mental  pic- 
tures of  everything  beforehand.  She  had  never  seen 
a  lieutenant  in  the  flesh,  and  now  that  she  had  got  a 
master  who  was  a  real  live  one,  who  offered  his  life- 
blood  for  his  country,  her  childish  imagination  built  up 
a  wonderful  picture  of  a  warlike  giant  with  imposing 
presence  and  a  great  sword  grasped  in  both  hands. 
And  his  nostrils  would  be  dilated  with  warlike  ardor. 
*'My  husband  Is  so  fiery!"  her  mistress  had  murmured 
in  a  burst  of  confidence  one  day. 

It  was  indeed  a  disappointment,  when  a  fortnight 
later  he  came  back  from  the  camp.  Ditte's  new  master 
was  a  slim  neat  little  man  with  a  thin  fair  mustache  of 
the  kind  that  out  in  the  country  would  be  said  to  be  in 
need  of  manuring.  He  had  a  parting  back  and  front, 
which  he  could  never  get  accurate  enough,  and  wore  a 
long  parade  sword  which  was  always  getting  between 
his  legs.  He  wore  corsets — a  thing  which  so  tickled 
Ditte's  sense  of  humor  that  she  would  wake  up  in  the 
middle  of  the  night  and  giggle  over  it — and  he  used  to 
scream  out  quite  hysterically  if  anything  went  wrong. 
He  cursed  and  swore  frightfully  too  if  every  little  thing 
was  not  in  apple-pie  order  for  his  toilet;  and  his 
little  wife  would  burst  into  floods  of  tears  and  become 
utterly  prostrated  at  such  times.  But  as  soon  as  he 
was  out  of  the  door,  she  would  smile  again.     "The 


276         DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

lieutenant  has  such  a  hasty  temper,"  she  would  say. 
"That  is  because  he  has  always  to  go  for  those  stupid 
recruits." 

Of  course  it  was  something  to  belong  to  the  family; 
but  Ditte  longed  for  a  place,  however  small,  that  she 
could  call  her  own, — a  hole  under  the  stairs  even,  where 
she  could  sit  on  her  bed  with  folded  hands,  and  indulge 
in  a  few  moments  reverie; — weep  a  few  tears  for  her 
baby,  her  home,  and  be  herself!  A  feeling  of  desire 
stirred  within  her,  to  live  her  own  life,  and  mix  with 
other  young  people  of  her  own  class.  The  other  ser- 
vant girls  in  the  building  had  their  free  evenings,  and 
their  young  men  who  fetched  them  at  the  street  door, 
and  with  whom  they  went  to  dances  and  other  places 
of  amusement.  Ditte  wanted  to  go  out  too;  but  the 
lady  v/as  firm  here.  "We  are  responsible  for  you," 
said  she.  "You  surely  don't  want  to  run  about  the 
streets  of  an  evening?"  Ditte  could  not  see  what  was 
so  very  reprehensible  in  being  out  in  the  evening  with 
other  young  folks :  it  was  quite  out  of  the  question  in 
the  daytime  for  her.  But  in  her  mistress's  eyes  it  was 
something  degrading,  "running  about  the  streets"  she 
called  it.  A  decent  respectable  girl  would  not  so  lower 
herself;  but  would  stay  quietly  at  home  of  an  evening. 
Quite  scandalized  she  described  how  another  family  in 
the  building  had  found  their  servant  girls  having 
visitors  to  coffee  up  in  their  room — men  visitors  too ! 
And  besides  that  the  coffee  had  been  filched  from  their 
employers.  "  f  ou  may  be  glad  that  ive  look,  after 
you !"  said  she. 

But  there  was  an  end  to  that  when  the  lieutenant 


DITTE  MAKES  ONE  OF  THE  FAMILY  277 

came  home,  for  they  were  out  nearly  every  evening.  If 
by  chance  there  came  an  evening  when  they  were  at 
home  she  never  knew  of  it  till  the  last  minute,  when 
it  was  too  late  to  plan  anything.  So  she  either  went  to 
the  Jensen's  in  Adel  Street  or  wandered  about  the 
streets  for  a  couple  of  hours  bored  to  death. 

"Get  another  place!"  said  Mrs.  Jensen,  "there  are 
plenty  of  places  vacant  on  the  first." 

"I  haven't  given  notice !"  answered  Ditte. 

"Just  make  off!" 

No,  she  wouldn't  do  that.  She  was  too  sorry  for 
her  mistress.  She  was  so  helpless  and  quite  nice 
and  sweet ! 

"No,  you  are  not  one  of  those  girls  who  just  go  off 
— that  one  can  be  sure  of !"  the  lady  said  one  day, 
while  they  were  washing  up.  She  must  have  scented 
some  such  idea  in  the  air.  "I  am  glad  I  got  you !  I 
always  wanted  a  country  girl.  No,  I  don't  like  the 
Copenhagen  girls  who  don't  care  for  being  in  service 
except  where  everything  is  done  in  style.  They  must 
have  their  own  room  with  a  stove,  and  two  courses  at 
dinner  with  dessert,  and  a  free  evening  every  week. 
The  lieutenant  says  they  should  just  be  under  him  for 
a  week  or  two.  He  would  teach  them  something! — 
How  glad  I  am  that  you  like  children !  Nearly  all 
the  girls  we  have  had  have  made  off  before  their  time 
was  up.  Except  the  last! — My  husband  turned  her 
out  of  doors.  Now  do  you  really  think  it  could  hurt 
any  one  to  look  after  the  baby  in  the  evening?  He  just 
sleeps, — and  he  is  company  too!  But  do  you  know 
what  she  did?    My  husband  and  I  are  sometimes  out 


278         DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

in  the  evening,  and  so  she  used  to  sit  at  home  with  the 
baby,  or  at  least  we  thought  so.  But  we  couldn't  under- 
stand why  the  baby  was  so  pale.  But  one  evening  we 
came  home  from  a  ball  before  it  was  over,  because  I 
didn't  feel  well,  and  as  we  came  along  the  street  my 
husband  said :  'Surely  that  is  Clara  just  in  front  of  us 
with  a  hussar  and  pushing  a  baby  carriage !'  'What 
nonsense,'  said  I !  Clara  has  no  baby.  Besides  she  is 
at  home  looking  after  the  boy!  But  it  was  her  all  the 
same.  With  our  little  baby  out  in  the  street  at  twelve 
o'clock  at  night." 

The  lady's  eyes  filled  with  tears,  "My  husband 
gave  her  a  tremendous  talking  to,  and  we  found  out 
that  for  nearly  a  fortnight  she  had  taken  the  baby  out 
secretly  and  put  him  in  the  cloak-room  while  she  danced 
with  her  hussar.  Isn't  it  frightful  that  any  one  can  be 
so  heartless  to  a  poor  little  innocent  child?  And  all 
for  the  sake  of  dancing!"  She  pressed  her  handker- 
chief to  her  eyes.  Suddenly  she  flung  down  what  she 
had  in  hand,  rushed  into  the  sitting-room  and  flung 
open  the  window:  the  clang  of  an  alarm  bell  floated 
up  from  the  Boulevard.  She  called  out  to  Ditte : 
"That  is  the  salvage  corps !  What  can  have  hap- 
pened? I  always  put  on  a  pair  of  buttoned  up  knickers 
when  I  go  out,  and  take  a  visiting  card  in  my  purse. 
Just  in  case  anything  should  happen!" 

One  day  Ditte  had  a  great  joy — she  received  a  photo 
of  her  little  boy.  The  farmer  had  taken  him  to  church 
and  taken  the  opportunity  of  getting  him  photographed 
as  well.  They  wrote  that  he  had  been  baptized  Jens 
after  the  husband,  and  was  healthy  and  lively;  but 


DITTE  MAKES  ONE  OF  THE  FAMILY  279 

cried  rather  a  lot.  He  wanted  something  to  gnaw  at 
all  the  time.  Ditte  laughed  when  she  read  this.  Yes, 
he  was  a  real,  little  greedy  monkey.  That  one  could 
see  from  the  photo:  he  was  so  fat!  She  was  a  little 
surprised  that  they  had  chosen  a  name  without  consult- 
ing her,  and  named  him  after  a  stranger  too;  but  he 
did  look  so  nice  sitting  there  in  the  middle  of  a  land- 
scape with  pillars  and  palms,  waving  his  fat  little  arms. 
And  how  nicely  they  dressed  him! 

Now  how  pleasant  it  would  have  been  to  have  had 
her  own  room  and  a  chest  of  drawers  where  she  could 
put  it  up.  Then  every  now  and  then  she  would  glance 
at  him  and  be  cheered  up.  Ditte  laid  the  photo  in  her 
bosom  a  couple  of  days;  but  fancied  that  it  began  to 
fade  from  the  warmth  of  her  body.  So  she  put  it  on 
the  sideboard  in  the  dining-room.  But  one  afternoon 
when  she  came  home  from  her  walk  with  the  boy  it 
had  gone. 

"Oh,  the  picture!"  exclaimed  her  mistress, — 
"That  is  a  sad  story!  When  my  husband  came  and 
found  it,  he  was  awfully  annoyed.  In  fact,  he  was  just 
going  to  put  it  into  the  fire  when  I  rescued  it.  What- 
ever made  you  think  of  putting  it  there?" 

She  fetched  it  from  a  drawer.  It  had  got  a  little 
scraped,  and  Ditte's  eyes  filled  with  tears.  "He  looks 
so  sweet,"  said  the  lady  to  comfort  her.  "Is  it  your 
little  brother?" 

"No,  it  is  my  own  child,"  Ditte  managed  to  say. 

"Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon;  it  is  a  pity!"  The  young 
wife  patted  her  cheek.  "You  mustn't  mind.  I  will  buy 
you  a  nice  frame  for  it.     Do  you  know,  my  baby  came 


28o        DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

too  soon  also,"  said  she  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  "You 
can  just  fancy  what  a  terrible  time  I  had,  being  with 
child,  and  not  knowing  if  Adolph  would  marry  me  or 
not.  Poor  little  thing!"  and  she  kissed  Ditte  and 
smiled  in  a  friendly  way  through  her  tears. 

This  moved  Ditte  so  that  she  could  not  find  it  in  her 
heart  to  give  notice.  But  she  was  so  tired.  It  is  true 
that  there  was  not  so  much  to  be  done,  but  what  did 
that  matter  if  one  was  always  tired?  At  night  she 
slept  with  one  hand  on  the  cradle  to  rock  it  if  a  whim- 
per came  from  the  little  one.  The  lieutenant  could  not 
bear  to  be  disturbed. 

Ditte  had  had  quite  enough  of  children  now.  It 
had  come  quite  naturally  to  this  pass.  She  tended  a 
child  she  did  not  care  two  pins  about  for  the  first  time 
in  her  life — she  could  nearly  have  wished  it  ill  luck. 
She  looked  after  it,  because  it  was  her  duty,  turned  it 
as  if  it  were  a  package,  got  up  at  night  to  give  it  a 
bottle,  and  knew  within  herself  that  if  it  lay  dead  in 
the  morning,  like  one  of  the  little  angels  in  the  mater- 
nity home,  she  would  not  have  cared  two  straws. 

On  the  last  day  of  the  month  Ditte  sat  and  counted 
her  wages  over  and  over  again.  Her  employers  had 
g;one  out.  She  got  up  and  took  out  the  old  knapsack  in 
Avhich  she  kept  her  things  from  under  the  couch,  and 
began  unpacking  them  and  arranging  them  on  the 
dining-room  table,  as  she  often  did  when  she  was 
bored.  But  suddenly  she  tossed  them  all  back  into  the 
knapsack,  warmed  a  bottle  and  gave  it  to  the  baby,  put 
on  her  old  shabby  clothes  and  fed.  She  rushed  down 
the   stairs  as  if  possessed.     When  she  got  into  the 


DITTE  MAKES  ONE  OF  THE  FAMILY  281 

street  she  felt  in  despair  over  the  little  baby  left  in  the 
lurch,  and  the  whole  business.  She  would  not  go  back, 
and  yet  could  not  go  away.  So  she  sat  on  a  bench  in 
the  Boulevard,  and  now  and  then  went  into  the  back- 
yard to  hear  if  the  baby  cried.  Perhaps  the  lamp 
might  be  smoking, — perhaps  fire  might  have  broken 
out,  or  something  else  awful  happened.  But 
not  until  she  saw  her  employers  coming  home  did  she 
hurry  away  to  Adel  Street  and  knock  the  Jensens  up. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

DITTE  IS  PROMOTED  TO  THE  RANK  OF 
PARLOR-MAID 

THE  alarm  rang  violently.  Louise,  the  cook, 
tumbled  out  of  bed  and  called  Ditte.  This  not 
succeeding,  she  began  to  shake  her  again  and 
again;  but  she  could  hardly  bring  her  back  to  con- 
sciousness. Even  when  she  had  been  got  up  to  sitting 
on  the  edge  of  the  bed,  she  was  full  of  sleep,  and 
swayed  to  and  fro.  "There  she  goes !  Lying  down 
again,  'pon  my  soul!"  cried  the  cook,  and  seized  the 
water-jug.  The  sound  of  the  jug  scraping  on  the  edge 
of  the  basin,  and  the  prospect  of  getting  a  cold  douche 
down  her  back  waked  Ditte  properly.  "Oh,  how  tired, 
how  tired  I  am !"  she  groaned  and  her  face  contracted. 
"Now  that's  right!  Get  your  things  on  quickly,"  said 
the  cook.  "We  will  have  a  really  good  cup  of  coffee. 
Then  you'll  feel  better." 

"The  coffee  is  locked  up,"  Ditte  answered  dolefully. 

"Pooh!  Locked  up!  Do  you  think  I'm  an  idiot?" 
Louise  turned  her  broad  back  to  her.  "I  took  out 
enough  for  the  whole  week  last  night.  It  would  have 
been  crazy  to  do  anything  else.  Ugh !  stingy  over  a 
few  grains  of  coffee !  And  flinging  heaps  of  money 
away  evening  after  evening  over  their  grand  parties! 
What  do  you  think  a  party  like  last  night  costs?  But 
thank  God  it  doesn't  matter  what  it  costs.    And  shall  I 

282 


DITTE  IS  PROMOTED  283 

go  and  scrimp  and  save  to  make  it  up  again?  Not 
much !  We're  bound  to  have  what  we  need !  The 
other  day  the  Queen  of  the  Fete — that's  a  new  name 
they  gave  the  mistress  when  they  toasted  her  the  other 
night — well,  she  came  in  to  me  and  said,  as  she  began 
picking  the  bones  of  a  roast  of  beef  out  of  the  waste 
bucket,  'You  must  wash  them  well,  Louise,  and  use 
them  for  soup.  Bones  make  excellent  soup !'  Now  I 
can't  abide  the  mistresses  in  the  kitchen;  they  only 
muddle  up  everything.  'Who  is  that  soup  for?'  I 
asked.  'For  all  of  us,'  she  answered  sharp  enough,  'but 
if  you  think  you  can't  eat  it,  Louise,  we  must  make 
something  special  for  you.'  'Then  I  will  see  after  the 
making  of  it  myself,  thank  you,'  says  I,  and  so  she  got 
what  for.  She  hasn't  a  bit  of  idea  of  cooking.  Most 
of  'em  haven't.  They  stir  up  something  or  other  with 
a  bit  of  pickled  cucumber — some  red  and  yellow  mess, 
— and  call  it  Italian  salad.  And  then,  if  you  please, 
they  make  out  that  they  have  cooked  the  whole  supper 
themselves,  and  there  they  sit  like  pussycats,  purring 
and  praising  one  another.  'You  are  indeed  a  great 
artist  in  the  culinary  art,  Mrs.  Director!'  'Umph!' 
says  I,  'if  the  guests  had  to  eat  what  the  mistress  can 
toss  up,  they  would  soon  stop  coming  here.'  " 

Louise  gossiped  on  while  she  sat  and  bound  up  her 
legs  which  were  swollen  and  full  of  varicose  veins. 
Then  she  put  on  her  dress  and  hurried  down.  Ditte 
followed  at  her  heels.  "Give  me  a  hand  to-day,  only 
for  a  little,"  she  begged. 

Ditte  had  already  several  times  experienced  that 
"day  after"   which  so   often   followed  parties   at   the 


284        DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

director's.  She  was  no  longer  quite  so  green,  although 
she  shuddered  when  she  came  Into  the  room  the  morn- 
ing after  such  a  party.  Ash-trays  stood  everywhere, — 
on  what-nots,  tables,  and  on  the  upholstered  furni- 
ture,— each  one  a  perfect  midden  of  cigar  and  cigarette 
ends  and  burnt  matches  and  ash.  Bottles  and  glasses 
stood  in  sticky  rings  of  wine,  the  hangings  and  furni- 
ture smelt  of  stale  tobacco,  and  it  seemed  Impossible 
to  know  where  to  begin  the  cleaning.  The  first  time 
she  gave  it  up,  and  fled  sobbing  to  the  cook,  who  had 
to  come  in  and  put  her  in  the  way  of  it.  It  had  to  be 
handled  rightly,  or  else  one  only  trampled  in  the  dirt 
and  made  it  more  of  a  pig-sty  than  ever.  No,  indeed, 
a  broom  and  wet  sand  could  be  of  no  use  here.  Then, 
Louise  scolded  her,  because  she  had  taken  the  place 
without  knowing  anything  about  the  work — and  helped 
her  afterwards.  And  Ditte,  in  her  gratitude,  bought 
something  for  her  out  of  the  tips  she  had  got  the  eve- 
ning before, — a  silk  handkerchief,  or  anything  else  she 
could  think  of. 

It  was  only  too  true  that  she  had  "bettered  herself* 
by  means  of  a  white  lie.  "If  you  are  asked  whether  you 
can  do  this  or  that,"  Mrs.  Jensen  had  said,  "just  say 
'yes.'  When  you  are  properly  settled,  you'll  leara 
it  soon  enough."  So  when  the  lady  had  asked  if  she 
had  been  a  parlor-maid  before,  she  had  answered  "yes,'* 
— not  with  much  assurance  certainly,  yet  it  was  a  "yes" 
all  the  same.  So  it  was  Important  to  learn  it  all  very 
quickly,  so  that  it  might  look  only  as  if  one  was  strange 
to  the  place  at  first,  and  Ditte  made  progress.  But  she 
had  to  puzzle  it  all  out  alone  with  the  hints  that  Louise 


DITTE  IS  PROMOTED  285 

gave  her.  The  lady  lay  in  bed  till  late  in  the  morning 
and  didn't  put  her  in  the  way  of  things  at  all,  only 
scolded  when  it  was  badly  done.  "You  may  be  glad 
of  that,"  said  the  cook,  "if  she  had  been  a  woman  who 
looked  after  her  things,  you  would  have  been  turned 
out  long  ago." 

This  was  not  very  comforting,  but  Ditte  slaved  on 
Indefatigably,  and  tried  to  get  into  harmony  with  her 
new  world.  It  was  indeed  a  new  world — from  the 
thick  carpets  on  the  floors,  which  could  neither  stand 
water  nor  wet  cloths,  but  must  be  cleaned  with  tea 
leaves, — to  the  chandelier  of  cut  glass,  which  she  was 
always  in  danger  of  pulling  down,  and  the  many  ex- 
pensive things  which  were  set  everywhere  like  so  many 
traps  for  her. 

She  took  her  life  in  her  hands  as  she  moved  among 
them,  and  the  frequent  parties  with  their  consequent 
night  vigils  did  not  make  things  any  easier.  She  and 
Louise  had  to  be  up  and  wait,  often  till  the  early  morn- 
ing, and  sit  yawning  in  the  kitchen,  listening  to  the 
noise  from  the  rooms.  Between  one  and  two  the  mas- 
ter used  certainly  to  come  out  and  say  they  could  go  to 
bed  if  they  liked,  but  for  all  that  they  stayed  up  until 
the  guests  were  gone  to  help  them  with  their  things. 
Generally  these  former  were  in  a  good  humor  and 
lavish  with  their  money.  Ditte,  who  was  young  and 
looked  smart,  got  the  most  tips,  although  Louise  had 
had  the  most  trouble ;  but  so  it  always  is  in  this  world. 
And  they  divided  the  spoils  afterwards. 

"Just  you  take  what  they  give  you,  and  stop  being 
stuck  up,"  said  Louise.    "And  if  they  ask  you  if  you  c?.n 


286        DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

change;  just  say  'no.'  A  note  is  not  at  all  too  much 
when  you  have  been  slaving  all  night  for  it.  But  don't 
kick  up  a  fuss  if  any  one  gives  you  a  little  pinch.  Men 
are  like  that,  when  they  have  had  a  little  drop.  If 
they  think  they  get  more  for  their  money  that  way,  it's 
all  the  same  to  me — for  a  fiver  or  a  tenner,  I  don't 
mind  a  blue  finger  mark  on  my  hips.  Sometimes  one 
gets  worse  than  that  for  nothing  at  all;  and  Mother 
always  said:  'You  have  to  get  your  food  where  you 
can  find  it.'  " 

The  tips  kept  Ditte  up.  She  hid  them  in  her  bosom, 
and  could  feel  them  rustling  against  her  skin,  while 
she  slaved  away  to  get  things  In  order  again.  At  half 
past  seven  the  Director  came  down  from  the  first  floor, 
and  by  then  the  dining-room  had  to  be  aired  and  warm 
and  tidy.  However  long  the  party  had  lasted  he  was 
up  early  and  was  fresh  enough  the  day  after.  Nothing 
upset  him.  He  had  his  own  room  upstairs  and  never 
went  to  that  side  of  the  house  where  his  wife  was;  he 
had  a  mistress  In  the  town.  Ditte  did  not  understand 
It  at  all.  Here  were  people  who  had  plenty  of  every- 
thing, and  who  never  needed  to  take  thought  as  to 
where  the  next  was  to  come  from.  They  had  only  to 
live  their  life  of  gaiety  and  splendor,  and  yet  they  were 
not  happy! 

Shortly  after  the  lady  rang.  "Has  the  Director 
gone?"  she  would  ask,  and  then  Ditte  brought  her  the 
remains  of  the  evening's  festivity  on  a  big  tray, — wine 
and  whisky  bottles  with  the  leavings  In  them  and  half 
emptied  glasses.  She  would  have  the  whole  lot  put 
down  by  her  bed,  and  lay  and  poured  the  leavings  into 


DITTE  IS  PROMOTED  287 

decanters.  But  the  heel-taps  in  the  glasses  she  drank; 
Louise  declared  it  was  the  taste  of  tobacco  and  mus- 
tache she  smacked  her  lips  over;  she  was  depraved  in 
such  things. 

She  had  a  big  airy  bedroom  looking  out  on  the  gar- 
den with  heavy  gilded  furniture,  and  hundreds  of  cut 
glass  bottles  and  glass  boxes  and  china  jars.  They 
were  all  beauty  shop  articles,  and  she  had  electric  curl- 
ing tongs  and  all  the  appliances  for  face  massage.  But 
she  was  none  the  handsomer  for  that!  The  reddish 
hair  on  the  forehead  bristled  and  looked  like  singed 
flax,  and  on  the  nape  of  the  neck  and  in  the  scalp  you 
could  see  the  smears  of  auburn  hair  dye.  The  black 
pencilling  round  her  eyes  was  smudged,  and  the  red  on. 
her  lips  and  cheeks  as  well.  Ditte  knew  only  too  well 
what  the  "Queen  of  the  Fete"  looked  like  when  she 
had  got  all  her  war-paint  scraped  off.  When  there 
was  nothing  left  in  the  bottles  Louise  advised  Ditte 
to  put  some  in,  as  it  meant  being  free  of  the  mistress 
most  of  the  morning,  for  which  Ditte  was  not  sorry. 

She  got  a  good  deal  of  scolding,  especially  at  first, 
and  went  about  with  beating  heart,  waiting  for  the 
entrance  of  the  lady.  There  was  enough  to  grumble 
at,  that  she  knew  well,  even  if  she  was  long  past  the 
stage  when  she  used  a  washleather  and  duster  to  the 
oil  paintings,  Ditte  was  not  stupid.  But  there  were 
hundreds  of  other  things  which  were  not  so  self- 
evident.  She  was  plumped  down  into  a  world  new 
and  full  of  luxury  and  costly  things,  the  existence  of 
which  she  had  never  dreamed  of,  and  which  were 
often  difficult  to  picture  as  valuable  as  they  really  were. 


288         DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

There  were  rooms  and  rooms  full  of  them,  and  every 
single  one  of  them  had  to  be  treated  in  its  own  par- 
ticular way.  Walking  here  was  like  dancing  on  rotten 
eggs,  and  Ditte  was  not  at  all  happy.  A  plain  glass 
bowl  according  to  the  lady's  assertion,  was  worth  many 
hundreds  of  crowns — God  help  Ditte  if  she  broke  it! 
She  did  not,  but  she  poured  water  into  a  flower  vase 
that  on  absolutely  no  account  could  stand  water  in  it, 
and  it  was  spoiled  directly,  although  Ditte  could  never 
see  any  difference  in  it. 

The  lady  took  this  sort  of  thing  more  calmly  than 
Ditte  herself.  Ditte  had  lost  her  sense  of  proportion 
by  going  blundering  about  in  the  dark,  never  knowing 
when  she  had  committed  a  crime  or  no,  and  could  get 
quite  hysterical  over  it.  At  such  times  she  would  rush 
up  to  her  room  and  lie  crying  on  the  bed,  and  Louise 
would  be  obliged  to  fetch  her  down. 

"You  are  a  perfect  silly  in  a  gentleman's  house!'* 
said  she  comfortingly,  "but  certainly  you  do  your  best, 
and  no  one  can  say  you  don't.  Now  just  you  go  down- 
stairs. The  mistress  is  quite  sorry  for  you.  And  do 
see  and  give  notice,  and  get  a  new  place — in  this  house 
they  kill  a  couple  of  girls  every  year.  It's  just  like  it 
was  at  home  on  the  estate,  where  they  wore  out  a  pair 
of  carriage  horses  every  year,  so  that  they  had  to  be 
shot.  But  as  for  us,  no  one  will  be  such  a  spendthrift  as 
to  waste  powder  and  shot  on  us:  we  must  go  on  till  we 
drop."  Her  legs  were  all  swollen  from  overwork,  and 
quite  dropsical.  She  was  betrothed  to  a  navvy,  and 
was  only  waiting  till  she  had  saved  enough  to  get 
married. 


DITTE  IS  PROMOTED  289 

But  Ditte  did  not  want  to  give  notice ;  she  had  fallen 
head  over  heels  out  of  two  places — that  was  enough ! 
It  was  the  first  time  in  her  life  that  she  knew  well 
enough  that  she  did  not  give  satisfaction.  They  had 
not  been  satisfied  with  her  either  in  the  other  places 
where  she  had  been  in  service;  but  that  was  different. 
Ditte  began  to  suspect  that  it  was  just  as  impossible 
to  give  satisfaction  as  to  creep  up  to  the  moon.  But 
here  she  was  discontented  with  herself;  she  felt  that 
she  was  not  capable  of  what  she  had  undertaken,  and 
it  worried  her.  It  had  always  been  her  pride  to  do  her 
work  properly. 

Ditte  had  promised  herself  much  from  the  capital — 
Not  so  much  in  the  way  of  amusement,  for  in  this  way 
she  was  easy  to  satisfy.  The  early  responsibility  in 
her  home  had  given  her  experience  and  developed  her. 
She  well  knew  that  she  was  capable  and  set  high  aims 
before  herself.  But  out  there  in  the  country  it  was 
scarcely  proper  housekeeping;  one  had  porridge  of  one 
sort  or  another  at  nearly  every  meal.  Table  cloths 
were  seldom  used,  and  the  beds  were  m<ide  as  if  there 
had  been  time  for  it.  And  of  course  it  was  quite  dif- 
ferent in  town.  There  one  didn't  go  out  to  stable  and 
field  work  bv  day,  and  have  to  do  all  the  housework 
when  the  men  folk  were  eating  or  sleeping.  Here  one 
was  in  the  house  all  day,  polishing  and  making  things 
nice,  and  cooking  food  according  to  a  cookery  book 
that  was  often  very  complicated.  There  was  a  de- 
mand for  housewifely  talent  and  carefulness  and  Ditte 
had  both  of  these  qualities.  Already  she  had  kept 
house  for  nearly  ten  years  all  by  herself,  and  beea 


290        DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

universally  praised  for  her  work.  But  oh !  This  leap 
from  the  hut, — from  the  hovel  at  the  "Crow's  Nest," 
and  the  "poor  house" — to  the  rooms  here.  There 
was  simply  no  comparison,  and  no  half-way  house.  It 
was  like  leaping  from  the  abyss  of  poverty  to  the  glory 
of  the  highest  heaven.  In  those  old  days,  she  had 
thought,  especially  on  Sunday  mornings,  when  she  had 
washed  the  floor  and  tidied  up,  and  strewed  fresh  sand 
on  the  ground,  that  they  had  a  most  comfortable  home. 
But  now  she  saw  plainly  that  it  was  absolutely  no  dwell- 
ing place  for  a  human  being.  The  wine  merchant's 
horses  had  a  much  warmer  and  grander  home.  The 
house  was  ready  to  fall  about  their  ears,  ceiling  and 
floors  worm-eaten  and  moldy,  not  a  bit  of  clothing  that 
had  not  been  "made  over,"  or  a  household  possession 
that  had  not  been,  so  to  say,  found  on  the  dust  heap. 
And  she  went  straight  from  that,  and  moved  among  the 
costliest  things,  in  large  rooms  with  expensive  carpets, 
furniture  and  pictures.  She  was  overwhelmed  and 
dazzled  and  bewildered.  She  lacked  all  sense  of  pro- 
portion, all  power  of  valuation,  and  all  instinct  as  to 
behaving  in  these  new  regions,  where  things  that  looked 
absolutely  worthless  would  in  reality  be  worth  many 
thousands. 

And  it  was  the  same  with  the  people.  Ditte  took  her 
mental  nourishment  direct  from  her  surroundings — she 
was  all  eyes  and  ears,  curiosity  Itself — nothing  could 
escape  her.  But  she  could  not  understand  the  people 
either:  could  no  more  comprehend  their  essential 
being,  than  that  of  the  objects.  What  did  they  want 
with   all   these   costly   things — ^they   never   looked   at 


DITTE  IS  PROMOTED  291 

them?  They  were  certainly  discontented,  although, 
they  could  get  anything  they  wanted  by  just  pointing  to 
it.  And  they  said  one  thing  and  meant  another.  The 
guests  kissed  the  lady's  hand  just  as  in  the  most  splen- 
did novels;  but  they  laughed  and  laid  a  finger  to  their 
noses  when  her  back  was  turned.  Ditte  saw  it  quite 
plainly.  Then  the  master  and  mistress  lived  under  one 
roof,  but  slept  each  on  their  own  storey. 

Ditte  had  her  evening  out  now — one  every  week, 
and  every  other  Sunday.  But  she  was  like  a  caged 
bird;  it  was  some  time  before  she  really  believed  that 
the  cage  door  was  open.  "Go  out,  girl !"  Louise  said 
to  her,  "Go  out  and  find  a  young  man,  and  don't  sit 
here  in  the  room  moping."  So  she  let  herself  be  driven 
out  once  or  twice,  and  all  at  once  she  got  a  taste  of 
freedom.  She  made  girl  friends  and  through  them 
met  young  fellows,  and  did  not  need  to  be  driven  out 
any  more;  but  gloated  like  a  miser  over  her  freedom. 
One  evening  late  she  was  escorted  home  by  some  other 
young  people ;  she  had  been  to  Dyrehavsbakken.  They 
stood  there  on  the  road  lined  with  villas  and  made  a 
noise  with  whistling  bladders. 

"You  are  wearing  your  heels  down,  my  girl!"  said 
Louise  next  morning.  "Take  care  you  don't  wear  out 
other  things  into  the  bargain !"  That  day  she  got 
notice.  At  first  she  wept,  and  felt  ashamed  to  change 
again  so  soon.  Just  as  it  had  begun  to  go  better  too! 
But  she  thrust  the  feeling  from  her;  the  other  girls 
she  knew  didn't  take  such  things  seriously;  they 
changed  for  a  mere  nothing.  One  good  thing  came  of 
it  at  any  rate;  three  free  afternoons — weekdays  too 


292         DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

— could  be  demanded  to  go  and  look  for  a  new  place. 
Ditte  enjoyed  her  afternoons  to  the  full,  although  she 
got  a  new  place  on  the  first  of  them.  One  of  her 
friends  had  taught  her  this  trick.  It  was  scarcely  hon- 
est; but  one  had  to  reckon  one  thing  with  another.  No 
one  gave  her  anything !  And  it  was  jolly  to  go  walking 
about  the  streets  at  a  time  when  one  would  else  be  at 
work,  and  when  the  shops  were  open.  Ditte  had  money 
in  her  pocket  for  the  first  time  in  her' life,  and  made 
large  purchases  for  her  little  boy  and  the  folks 
at  home. 

And  she  promised  herself  a  lot  from  the  new  place. 
There  was  nothing  to  regret — the  best  must  still  lie 
ahead.  At  any  rate  there  was  not  much  of  it  to  be 
found  in  the  places  she  had  already  traversed ! 


CHAPTER  XXVI 
HOMELESS! 

DITTE  sometimes  thought  Mrs.  Jensen  was  right 
— it  would  have  been  better  if  she  had  stayed  at 
home.  The  wages  sounded  well  enough;  but 
"were  not  sufficient  when  one  had  to  be  decently  dressed, 
and  used  up  a  lot  of  clothes  in  one's  v/ork;  and  any 
chance  of  really  bettering  herself  seemed  a  long  way 
off.  She  felt  still  more  miserable  and  ignored  here 
than  out  in  the  country.  There  people  had  taken  some 
notice  of  such  low  folk  as  they,  if  not  in  the  most 
friendly  way;  they  had  been  human  beings,  though  set 
at  the  lowest  place  at  the  table.  Here,  however,  she 
and  her  like  simply  did  not  count! 

Little  by  little  she  began  to  realize  the  position — 
through  her  own  experiences  and  those  of  her  friends. 
There  were  places  good  and  places  bad!  Places  where 
the  lady  of  the  house  went  about  with  the  key  of  the 
larder  in  her  pocket,  and  served  out  ever^-  morsel  the 
girl  ate  herself,  even  the  slices  of  bread;  and  other 
houses  where  one  got  as  much  as  one  could  eat,  and 
where  the  mistress  helped  the  maid  out  of  the  pots 
before  the  food  was  taken  in,  so  that  there  was  no  risk 
of  finding  nothing  left  over.  There  were  places  where 
the  lady  poked  her  nose  into  everything,  and  others 
where  the  servant  reigned  supreme,  and  the  lady 
scarcely  dared  set  her  foot  in  the  kitchen.     There  was 

293 


294        DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

nothing  to  be  said  to  all  that.  The  only  thing  was  to 
give  notice  as  quickly  as  possible  when  one  had  been 
unlucky,  and  try  to  get  a  better  place. 

And  very  quickly  one  had  had  enough  of  that,  and 
was  again  on  the  look-out.  It  was  but  an  itching  desire 
for  change  that  left  one  no  peace  anywhere;  one  had  to 
rush  off  whether  one  would  do  or  no!  Just  as  one 
had  settled  down,  and  expected  to  be  comfortable  this 
time,  it  would  come  over  one  like  a  cold  shiver — one 
simply  had  to  give  notice ! 

This  environment  sucked  Ditte  down  into  the  whirl- 
pool, though  she  strove  against  it  as  long  as  she  could. 
But  having  once  begun,  it  all  happened  quite  spon- 
taneously. She  gave  and  was  given  notice, — the  one 
just  as  often  as  the  other.  And  she  watched  her 
friends  changing  from  place  to  place,  from  West. to 
East  and  back  again.  They  were  like  workmen  at  a 
rolling  machine,  fixed  positions  had  they  none;  or  like 
porters  always  on  the  way  with  the  luggage,  except 
that  when  they  felt  they  had  got  it  dragged  up  and 
down  long  enough,  they  slipped  out  of  the  running. 
They  went  into  a  factory  or  a  dressmaking  establish- 
ment. 

Ditte  knew  nothing  and  cared  less  as  to  the  reason 
of  their  perpetual  change :  It  was  all  one  to  her,  once' 
the  country  feeling  of  shame  at  never  stopping  in  one 
place  was  overcome.  She  only  argued  that  the  un- 
known was  always  to  be  preferred  to  the  known — 
just  as  she  had  done  in  her  childhood  when  she  had 
run  away  from  Granny.  She  had  suffered  much 
since  that  time,   and  bore  the  marks  of  it  yet;  but 


HOMELESS!  295 

nothing  had  ever  quenched  her  hope  and  expectations. 
The  same  feehng  of  boredom  that  had  urged  her  then 
to  leave  Granny's  cottage  and  trot  out  on  the  high- 
way after  her  own  little  snub  nose,  drove  her  on  now. 
She  hungered  for  something  that  had  never  come 
within  her  reach — neither  in  the  good  nor  the  bad 
places — food  for  her  human  soul.  She  did  not  ob- 
ject to  hard  work  and  her  d;  ties — these  never  de- 
serted her;  but  sat  and  waited  faithfully  on  the 
threshold  of  every  new  place.  But  she  had  dreams  of 
something  more — something  harder  to  find,  she  knew 
not  what  precisely.  It  was  something  like  being  good 
to  one  another, 

Ditte  did  not  understand  what  It  was  to  spare  her- 
self, where  it  was  a  question  of  bearing  the  brunt  and 
doing  all  she  could  for  others.  She  had  a  lot  of  good- 
fellowship  In  her.  But  there  was  no  question  of  mutual 
help  here, — she  got  board  and  wages  In  return  for  her 
work,  and  that  settled  her  position.  No  one  ever 
imagined  that  she  went  to  her  work  with  a  desire  to 
pour  out  her  love  upon  other  human  beings,  and  in 
return  craved  a  little  of  the  same  love.  No  one  seemed 
to  be  concerned  with  the  fact  that  she  was  also  a  human 
being  with  organs  for  gladness  and  grief,  and  needed  a 
little  laughter  in  the  home  In  which  she  found  herself, 
and  perhaps  to  weep  a  little  too!  No  one  wanted  to 
have  anything  to  do  with  her  soul,  or  her  sympathy 
either;  she  had  just  to  mind  her  own  business  and  walk 
as  discreetly  as  might  be.  Laughter  was  not  for  her — 
and  still  less  sorrow;  but  the  corner  at  the  back  of  the 
stove  was  very  dirty — would  she  kindly  clean  It! 


296        DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

At  bottom  it  was  the  same  everywhere — she  did 
not  belong  to  the  household- -she  was  a  stranger,  often 
an  enemy,  always  in  the  way,  whom  the  gentry  only  put 
up  with  because  they  could  not  do  without  her.  In 
every  home  there  was  a  life  which  she  helped  to  frame 
and  color;  but  where  she  made  no  part  of  the  picture. 
From  many  things  she  could  make  out  that  the  home 
•rested  on  her — from  the  disturbance  that  ensued  when 
she  had  to  keep  her  bed  for  a  day — from  the  despair 
when  the  day  came  for  her  to  quit  and  they  had  not 
succeeded  in  getting  any  one  else.  And  yet  the  world 
held  no  more  homeless  creature! 

Ditte  was  so  created  that  she  must  take  her  share  in 
others'  weal  and  woe,  and  do  all  in  her  power  to  make 
them  happy.  At  home  this  had  come  back  to  her 
again,  as  the  affection  and  well-being  of  the  family  was 
her  greatest  reward.  Also  at  the  farm  where  she  had 
worked  she  had  got  a  laborious  share  in  the  comfort 
she  had  created.  But  here  she  was  just  an  outsider! 
It  was  not  easy  for  Ditte  to  learn  that  she  was  no 
longer  a  human  being:  but  a  part  of  the  household 
appliances.  It  gradually  became  bitter  to  her  that  her 
good  qualities  had  to  be  limited  to  the  purely  useful. 
She  had  to  be  everywhere,  but  she  had  also  to  be  in- 
visible. She  used  up  all  her  old  stock  of  humanity 
while  she  was  making  these  discoveries,  but  it  was 
never  renewed.  Little  by  little  it  became  more  difficult 
for  her  to  feel  sympathy  for  her  employers.  In  com- 
pensation she  learned  to  act  quite  automatically. 

Yes,  that  succeeded  best  of  all.  One  had  to  be  cold 
and  unfeeling — a  dummy  who  could  clean  and  wait 


HOMELESS !  297 

at  table;  but  neither  see  nor  hear  anything.  One  had 
to  be  correct  and  stylish  and  discreet.  Ditte  knew  all 
these  expressions  by  heart.  One  had  to  be  able  to 
hand  the  lady  water  and  drops  without  a  suspicion 
that  she  was  ready  to  faint,  talk  indifferently  with  her 
about  housekeeping,  without  seeing  her  swollen  tear- 
stained  face.  Ditte  felt  a  natural  desire  to  lay  some- 
thing cool  on  her  forehead,  and  whisper  comforting 
words;  but  she  wisely  perfected  herself  in  the  other 
method — in  what  they  called  discretion ! 

She  did  not  easily  forget  that  word !  Her  first  sum- 
mer in  service  she  passed  with  a  broker  who  had  a 
little  summer  place  at  Taarbeck.  She  went  there  with 
them,  and  was  glad  to  be  out  of  the  town,  only  they 
had  such  a  number  of  visitors,  the  larger  number  of 
■whom  spent  the  night  there.  One  night  there  were 
so  many  that  they  had  to  put  two  married  couples  in 
the  attic  room  under  the  gable  with  a  screen  between 
the  two  double  beds.  When  Ditte  came  in  with  coffee 
next  morning,  the  screen  stood  discreetly  in  its  right 
place ;  but  the  ladies  were  lying  in  the  wrong  beds ! 
She  was  so  startled  that  she  dropped  the  w^hole  tray. 
So  she  got  notice — she  had  been  indiscreet! 

She  was  not  really  a  human  being — it  was  that 
which  galled  her !  There  were  employers  who  made 
her  wear  a  special  uniform,  perhaps  lest  any  one  should 
make  a  mistake  as  to  her  position  in  the  house.  Ditte 
looked  smart  and  walked  well,  and  sometimes  people 
had  asked  if  she  was  the  daughter  of  the  house.  She 
was  glad  her  mistress  had  not  heard  it. 

Her  real  home  was  the  street;  there  she  could  seek 


298         DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

out  humanity.  And  when  she  did,  she  was  jeered  at 
for  it.  She  was  always  gadding  about,  they  said. 
Ditte  knew  they  said  this;  but  remained  indifferent. 
She  took  her  amusement  where  she  could  find  it.  But 
she  went  among  the  other  young  folk,  not  entirely 
careless  and  glad.  She  was  a  trifle  too  heavy  for  them; 
too  many  serious  things  lay  behind  her  in  her  life  for 
her  to  acquire  their  light  frivolous  tone.  But  she  did 
her  best. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 
KARL'S  FACE 

DITTE  sat  on  a  wooden  chair  at  the  kitchen  table 
— in  the  corner  by  the  sink,  and  munched  her 
food.  In  front  of  her  were  the  waste  pipes 
from  the  sink  and  closet  of  the  flat  overhead:  when 
she  looked  past  this,  she  could  only  see  a  narrow  yard 
with  gray  walls.  She  saw  them  with  a  dull,  indiffer- 
ent gaze,  as  she  half  listened  to  the  chat  from  the 
dining-room  where  luncheon  was  in  progress. 

"Laura !"  she  heard,  and  the  cry  was  repeated, 
louder  this  time !  Ditte  got  up  and  took  in  the  coffee. 
It  was  always  difficult  to  hammer  into  her  head  that 
this  strange  name  was  for  her;  she  always  had  to  think 
twice  before  she  answered  to  it. 

In  the  dining-room  the  conversation  had  for  some 
reason  or  other  led  to  a  quarrel.  Ditte  listened 
eagerly — what  was  the  matter  now?  She  was  no 
longer  upset  by  hearing  others  quarrel;  in  fact,  it  might 
be  said  that  she  felt  a  little  malicious  delight.  There 
was  a  certain  satisfaction  in  finding  out  that  the  gentry 
were  also  human — that  they  were  not  so  much  supe- 
rior to  her  and  her  likes  as  they  made  out,  but  in  re- 
ality used  bad  language,  quarreled,  yes,  and  sometimes 
beat  one  another  too. 

This  was  an  experience  which  shook  her  inborn  re- 
spect for  them  considerably, 

299 


300        BITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

All  grew  calm  again,  thank  goodness!  Possibly  be- 
cause there  was  a  ring  at  the  door.  Ditte  got  up  to 
go  and  open  it,  but  was  met  in  the  passage  by  the 
half-grown  daughter  of  the  house,  Miss  Kirstine,  with 
a  letter  in  her  hand.  "A  letter  for  Miss  Man !"  she 
said  with  a  special  emphasis  on  the  word  "Miss,"  and 
handed  her  the  letter  with  a  giggle.  Ditte  quite  un- 
derstood why  she  laughed.  They  did  not  approve  of 
the  "Miss"  on  the  letter.  She  had  already  noticed  it 
the  first  day  when  she  was  engaged.  "What  is  your 
name?"  the  lady  had  asked. 

"Kirstine  Man,"  Ditte  had  answered. 

"That's  most  annoying,  for  our  youngest  daughter 
is  called  Kirstine  too,  and  it  would  easily  lead  to  mis- 
takes. Can't  you  take  another  name?  Laura,  for  in- 
stance, would  do !" 

Ditte  did  not  like  it.  "But  you  could  call  me  Miss 
Man,"   she   said  ingenuously. 

"No,  vv-e  do  not  care  to  call  our  servant  girl  'Miss,'  " 
was  the  final,  crushing  reply. 

So  she  was  obliged  to  give  up  her  good  Christian 
name,  and  answer  to  the  name  "Laura,"  and  at  first 
it  seemed  to  Ditte  as  if  they  had  taken  away  her  right 
to  be  a  human  being.  People  did  the  same  to  dogs 
when  they  changed  owners — a  new  master,  a  new 
name  !  And  they  never  spoke  to  her  rs  "you,"  but 
always  used  the  third  person,  which  sounded  as  if  she 
were  not  there  at  all,  or  at  any  rate  did  not  belong 
to  the  household;  v/hile  she  herself  had  to  say  "Sir" 
or  "Madam,"  and  "Master"  or  "Miss"  to  the  grow- 
ing children.      Tn  spite  of  this,  however,  the  children 


KARL'S  FACE  301 

often  called  her  Miss  Man  in  joke — they  thought  it 
very  witty.  But  they  got  little  amusement  out  of  it,  for 
Ditte  took  it  quite  seriously.  Why  shouldn't  she  be 
called  Miss?  They  always  called  her  so  in  the  shops, 
and  for  all  that  she  was  poor  and  had  to  work  for 
her  daily  bread,  she  thought  she  was  just  as  good  as 
any  one  else,  and  just  as  well  brought  up!  So  there 
was  friction  over  the  title,  and  she  wrote  home  and 
told  Sister  Else  to  be  sure  and  remember  always  to 
put  "Miss  Man"  on  her  letters. 

^.  She  got  but  few  of  these  from  home.  Lars  Peter 
had  got  unaccustomed  to  the  use  of  pen  and  ink — if 
he  ever  had  been  good  at  it:  Sister  Else  had  to  attend 
to  all  the  correspondence.  And  it  was  difficult  for  her 
to  find  anything  to  say;  as  soon  as  she  had  begun,  she 
always  wrote :  "Now  1  have  no  more  to  say,  so  will 
end  my  letter  with  love."  All  that  Ditte  longed  to 
hear  about  the  daily  life  was  unanswered.  Else  could 
not  understand  that  there  could  be  anything  interesting 
in  that.  She  just  stated  who  had  died  in  the  hamlet, 
and  narrated  which  of  the  young  people  were  walking 
out  with  each  other — and  Ditte  was  no  longer  so  in- 
terested in  that.  Karl  was  nearly  always  mentioned; 
they  were  in  constant  communication  with  him,  and  now 
and  then  he  paid  them  a  visit.  Ditte  noticed  that  his 
star  was  at  its  zenith,  and  felt  it  a  good  deal;  it  was 
just  as  if  he  had  slipped  into  the  warm  nest  she  had 
been  pushed  out  of.  Every  time  she  wrote  Else  asked 
if  she  saw  anything  of  Karl  in  town.  Just  as  if  they 
didn't  know  that  she  purpoi  -ly  kept  away  from  him  I 
But  it  was  meant  for  a  reproach ! 


302         DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

And  there  was  another  reproach  In  to-day's  letter. 
Lars  Peter  had  lately  been  in  town  and  tried  to  find 
Ditte;  but  she  had  moved  again.  "You  do  really 
move  often !"  wrote  Else.  Yes,  naturally  she  often 
moved!  What  else  should  she  do?  But  what  did 
they  know  out  there  of  the  conditions  of  life  In  town? 
She  didn't  mind  the  rebuke  from  home,  but  felt  all 
the  more  sorry  that  Lars  Peter  had  been  obliged  to 
seek  her  in  vain.  It  was  a  shame,  and  how  gladly 
would  she  have  seen  him  and  heard  a  little  real  home 
news!  It  seemed  as  if  she  had  never  longed  so  be- 
fore to  hear  his  voice;  she  was  so  troubled  inwardly, 
and  in  his  presence  one  felt  so  good  and  In  no  doubt 
of  the  right  way. 

But  Ditte  neither  heard  nor  saw  anything  of  Karl. 
Yes,  only  once  just  after  she  had  come  up  to  town, 
she  had  got  a  line  from  him  telling  her  he  was  living  in. 
Blaagaard  Street  and  would  be  glad  to  come  and  take 
her  out,  if  she  cared  to  go.  She  had  never  answered 
— what  use  would  It  have  been  when  she  was  never 
allowed  out?  It  would  have  been  pleasant  that  time 
to  have  had  a  male  friend.  But  when  she  first  began 
to  feel  her  feet,  she  would  not  have  liked  him  to  con- 
trol her  movements,  and  look  all  the  time  as  If  he  was 
weighing  all  her  actions.  But  she  knew  that  he  was 
still  in  town  and  working  at  road  making:  Louise  had 
let  fall  a  hint,  to  wit,  that  her  sweetheart  was  work- 
ing with  a  fellow  from  DItte's  parish  who  knew  her. 
This  was  significant  enough,  and  DItte  did  not  fall  Into 
the  trap ! 

Yet  for  all  that  she  had  not  finished  with  Karl! 


KARL'S  FACE  303 

She  could  refrain  from  answering  him,  and  keep  away 
from  him,  but  to  shut  him  out  of  her  thoughts  was 
impossible.  An  impress  of  him  remained  on  her  mind, 
just  as  on  her  body;  neither  of  them  could  ever  quite 
disappear.  His  image  came  into  her  mind  mostly 
when  she  was  thinking  of  nothing  at  all.  He  looked 
at  her  with  grave  accusing  eyes — especially  If  she  was 
about  to  do  something  not  quite  right.  It  was  all  non- 
sense that  he  should  play  the  role  of  her  soul's  judge. 
And  It  was  most  irritating  that  he  always  appeared  with 
that  accusing,  lugubrious  face  just  when  she  also  was 
annoyed  with  herself — and  masterfully  push  his  way 
Into  her  presence. 

And  she  often  dreamed  of  him.  If  she  had  not  been 
able  to  get  through  her  work  in  the  day,  or  had  had 
difficulties  to  contend  with,  she  lived  through  all  the 
trouble  In  dreams  again.  But  it  came  out  differently 
in  the  dream,  so  that  It  was  Karl  in  person  she  was 
struggling  with,  his  morbid  Inclination  to  suicide  that, 
in  spite  of  all  sacrifice,  she  had  not  been  able  to  over- 
come. 

She  would  never  be  free  of  him ! 

And  one  evening  she  saw  Karl  himself — at  least  she 
thought  so — It  was  in  a  tram  on  the  way  to  a  dance 
out  in  North  Bridge  at  a  hotel;  at  Blaagaard  Street 
she  saw  his  face  among  the  crowd  of  people  who  stood 
at  the  stopping  place:  they  were  just  starting  again. 
He  looked  earnestly  at  her — not  reproachfully,  as  she 
had  expected,  but  with  an  entirely  new  expression — • 
only  inquiring.     And  what  that  inquiry  meant  Ditte 


304        DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

knew  only  too  well.  She  would  rather  he  had  looked 
angry ! 

She  did  not  enjoy  the  dance,  and  all  the  evening  she 
saw  his  face  up  in  the  gallery  among  the  onlookers. 
As  often  as  she  covertly  glanced  up,  he  was  looking 
at  her  most  intently.  At  length  she  could  stand  it  no 
longer,  and  went  up — she  was  determined  to  know 
what  he  meant — had  she  no  right  to  dance?  But 
when  she  got  up,  he  was  not  there ! 

Ditte  began  to  feel  quite  uncomfortable  and  went 
to  no  more  dances.  Her  grandmother  had  taught 
her  that  when  a  face  appeared  in  this  way,  it  betokened 
something  serious  about  to  happen,  cither  for  oneself 
or  for  one  of  those  nearest.  She  could  not  get  rid 
of  this  feeling  of  fear,  her  child  and  her  home  held 
domineering  sway  in  her  soul,  as  they  had  not  done 
for  many  a  day.  Perhaps  something  had  happened 
to  one  or  other  of  them — while  she  ran  about  and 
enjoyed  herself — or  even  while  she  had  been  danc- 
ing! It  had  happened  before,  that  horror  of  dancing 
and  knowing  nothing,  while  one  both  near  and  dear  lay 
in  the  death  struggle ! 

She  begged  her  mistress  for  a  couple  of  days  to  go 
home,  saying  that  her  father  was  ill.  And  as  this  re- 
quest was  refused,  and  it  was  too  late  to  give  notice 
for  the  first,  she  packed  her  things  together  one  evening 
and  made  off.  She  had  to  get  home !  She  got  the 
porter  to  help  her  down  with  her  luggage  while  the 
family  were  out.  Fie  took  it  to  the  Jensens' — out  In 
Adel  Street. 

Ditte  was  not  surprised  to  find  her  father  In  bed 


KARL'S  FACE  305 

He  had  strained  himself  lifting  the  backboard  of  a 
wagon,  and  was  lying  with  a  mustard  plaster  on  his 
loins;  he  could  scarcely  turn  in  bed.  She  was  much 
more  surprised  to  find  Sine  from  the  Hill  Farm  there. 
She  nearly  dropped  her  umbrella  and  muff,  so  startled 
was  she  when  she  opened  the  back  door  and  Sine  stood 
at  the  sink  with  her  plump  arms  in  the  steaming  wa- 
ter, clad  in  apron  and  washing  dress  and  wooden  shoes, 
with  a  calm  industry  as  of  one  who  feels  thoroughly 
at  home.  She  was  still  rosy-cheeked  and  became  more 
so  when  she  recognized  Ditte.  She  greeted  the  latter 
with  some  embarrassment,  and  kept  out  in  the  kitchen. 
But  Ditte  did  not  feel  called  upon  to  ride  the  high 
horse. 

Lars  Peter's  face  shone  with  delight  when  he  saw 
Ditte.  She  thought  he  looked  bad,  as  well  as  pale 
and  troubled :  it  must  have  been  a  difficult  time  for 
them.  He  did  not  seem  to  think  It  at  all  strange  that 
she  had  come  at  the  end  of  the  month,  but  was  joy- 
fully surprised.  "You  have  grown  a  fine  lady,"  said 
he,  and  enveloped  her  whole  form  in  a  glance  that 
warmed  Ditte  to  the  heart's  core.  Ah,  that  was  what 
she  stood  in  need  of,  to  meet  a  glance  that  for  once  was 
not  criticizing,  but  only  contained  goodness  towards 
her! 

*'Yes,  haven't  you  a  fine  daughter?"  said  Ditte,  quite 
pleased.      "But  where  are  the  youngsters?" 

They  were  out  somewhere.  Else  and  the  two  boys 
were  helping  to  pick  herrings  out  of  the  meshes  of  the 
nets,  Kristian  was  at  the  farm.  "If  he  is  there  still  1" 
added  Lars  Peter  slowly. 


3o6        DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

Ditte  had  to  look  at  everything,  and  take  in  the  old 
familiar  smell  of  it  all.  A  nice  clothes  chest  had  been 
set  between  the  windows — it  was  Sine's.  The  lamp 
with  the  blue  glass  shade  that  stood  on  the  top,  she 
also  recognized.  "Else  did  not  write  and  tell  me  you 
were  111!     Have  you  been  so  long?"  she  asked. 

"Nearly  a  month!  We  did  not  want  to  frighten 
you  for  no  good,  as  It  Is  not  dangerous.  But  It  is 
horribly  painful — I  can't  turn  myself  In  bed.  We  are 
grateful  to  Sine." 

"I  had  no  Idea  she  was  here." 

"No,  for  you  see — "  Lars  Peter  stopped.  "I  had 
just  taken  on  some  road-mending  for  the  borough  coun-^ 
cll,  to  earn  a  few  pence,  and  it's  danged  heavy  work  to 
get  the  back  piece  lifted  out  when  one  Is  unloading. 
Now,  I've  done  worse  things  than  that,  but  one  day 
I  just  doubled  up,  and  fell  on  the  side  of  the  road  and 
couldn't  move  a  step.  They  carried  me  home,  and 
when  Sine  heard  how  I  lay  here,  she  just  thought — 
For  poor  little  Else  couldn't  manage  it  alone.  I  must 
say  she  came  like  God's  own  angel,  so  if  you  would 
be  a  little  friendly  to  her — "  He  spoke  in  a  hushed 
voice.  Sine  came  in  with  the  coffee  just  then,  but 
looked  at  neither  of  them. 

"I  was  just  telling  Ditte  how  good  you  are  to  all 
of  us,"  he  said,  and  held  out  his  hand.  Sine  glanced 
hastily  from  one  to  the  other,  then  went  and  sat  at 
the  end  of  his  settle-bed. 

Ditte  was  not  at  all  vexed  about  It,  but  felt  that 
the  others  thought  she  was,  and  could  not  find  any- 
thing to   say.     So   she   went  up   to   Sine   and   kissed 


KARL'S  FACE  307 

her  cheek.  "I  wished  for  that  once  I"  she  said 
simply. 

"No?  Well,  that's  all  right  then  !"  said  Lars  Peter, 
much  relieved.  "Let  the  others  say  and  think  what 
they  like." 

Ditte  thought  the  same.  "But  why  don't  you  two 
get  married?"  she  asked,  so  suddenly  that  Sine  burst 
out  laughing. 

"We  might  just  as  well  ask  you  the  same  question," 
said  Lars  Peter,  and  laughed  too.  "You  are  the  most 
likely  one.  I  must  get  on  my  legs  again  first,"  he 
went  on,  more  seriously,  when  he  saw  that  Ditte  did 
not  like  to  be  reminded  of  her  past,  "only  grand  folks 
are  married  in  bed.  We  had  been  1:hinking  of  put- 
ting the  wedding  and  Kristian's  confirmation  together 
— ■if  he  doesn't  disappear  first!" 

"Has  he  gone  wrong  again?" 

"Yes,  he  made  off  just  lately.  The  parson  had  been 
rather  strict  with  him  at  the  confirmation  classes,  and 
so  he  started  of^  to  walk  to  Copenhagen.  He  meanf 
to  go  and  see  you,  and  then  to  go  to  sea.  It's  not 
a  bad  walk,  that — thirty  to  thirty-five  miles !  I  had 
to  go  after  him — that  was  the  time  I  couldn't  find 
you.  I  should  never  have  got  the  boy  either  if  1 
hadn't  got  the  police  to  help  me.  A.  bad  job  that 
was!" 

"You  ought  to  let  him  go  to  sea  when  he  is  con- 
firmed," said  Ditte.  "If  I  were  a  man,  I  should  go 
to  sea,  it's  not  worth  while  staying  on  the  land." 

Yes,  Lars  Peter  had  noticed  that  she  was  not  satis- 
fied with  her  circumstances  in  town.     But  Ditte  would 


3o8         DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

not  pursue  the  subject,  so  he  let  it  drop.  She  was  used 
to  bear  her  troubles  alone,  and  that  they  let  her  do. 
She  could  get  out  of  them  all  right.  She  had  become 
a  very  pretty  and  determined  lass  for  her  twenty  years, 
and  wore  her  clothes  well.  No  one  who  saw  her  could 
have  thought  that  it  was  the  rag  and  bone  man's 
daughter,  the  little  wizened,  crooked  kiddie  from  the 
"Crov/'s  Nest"  who  stood  there. 

The  next  day  Ditte  had  to  go.  She  wanted  to  go 
to  Noddebo  to  see  her  child,  and  then  into  town  to 
find  a  new  place  before  the  first  of  the  month.  They 
did  not  need  her  at  home,  and  she  did  not  want  to  be 
out  of  work  at  home  in  the  hamlet  either.  And  there 
were  none  of  the  inhabitants  she  cared  for,  now  that 
the  old  pensioner  couple  were  dead.  The  house  was 
sold,  and  it  was  quite  strange  to  see  it  and  know  that 
strangers  lived  there.  Povl  and  Rasmus  got  the  old 
nag  out  and  drove  her.  She  was  refreshed  by  her 
visit  home,  short  as  it  .was,  and  enjoyed  the  drive  with 
the  two  lads. 

But  the  meeting  with  her  child  was  a  bitter  disap- 
pointment. She  had  longed  unreasonably  for  it,  and 
yet  she  felt  with  torture  in  her  soul  that  as  each  month 
went  by  she  got  further  away  from  him.  She  had 
neglected  to  follow  his  growth,  and  did  not  recognize 
her  little  six-weeks-old  baby  in  the  dirty  plump  young- 
ster that  toddled  about  and  said  "Ga-ga!"  and  "Bo!" 
to  everything,  and  stuck  out  his  tongue.  And  the 
worst  of  all  was  that  he  was  frightened  of  her.  The 
crofter's  wife  had  to  force  him  to  go  to  her.  "Jens 
not  afraid  of  the  strange  lady!"  she  said  to  him. 


KARL'S  FACE  309 

The  words  cut  Ditte  to  the  heart,  she  felt  unwanted 
as  never  before  and  hastened  away  from  the  place. 
"He  is  my  child  for  all  that!"  she  repeated,  as  she 
hurried  towards  Hillerod,  where  she  was  to  take  the 
train  to  Copenhagen.  "He  is  my  child!"  But  there 
was  not  much  consolation  in  that.  She  had  cut  herself 
off  from  the  boy.  That  Karl  often  went  out  and  saw 
it  did  not  make  the  case  against  her  any  better.  She 
had  been  a  bad  mother,  who  left  her  child  to  strangers 
in  order  to  have  a  good  time  herself,  and  now  it  was 
brought  home  to  her. 

It  was  with  no  special  pleasure  that  she  again  stood 
in  the  capital.  She  was  sick  of  it.  She  envied  Sine, 
who  had  now  settled  into  her  new  life  at  home — she 
had  also  belonged  to  just  such  a  poor  nest. 

For  a  moment  the  thought  of  Karl  crossed  her 
mind,  but  she  pushed  it  from  her. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 
DITTE'S  DAY 

WHEN  the  alarm  went  off  at  six  o'clock  In  the 
morning,  DItte  sat  up  In  bed  with  a  start, 
still  tired  out  from  the  fatigues  of  the  day 
before,  and  the  many  preceding  ones..  Half  asleep 
she  swung  her  legs  over  the  edge  of  the  bed,  groped 
for  her  clothes  and  nearly  fell  back  among  the  pil- 
lows again.  But  with  a  shiver  she  pulled  herself  to- 
gether, threw  off  her  nightdress,  and  began  to  wash  in 
the  hand-basin. 

Ah !  that  brought  the  life  back  into  her  legs  again. 
Her  heart  leaped  up  at  the  touch  of  the  old  sponge, 
seemed  to  turn  round  in  the  air,  and  began  to  beat 
furiously.  It  swung  like  a  great  bell,  and  from  all 
sides  her  hidden  powers  came  forth  and  took  up  their 
rightful  stations.  It  was  just  as  if  she  became  pos- 
sessed, and  Ditte  was  absolutely  convinced  of  the  truth 
of  what  her  grandmother  had  only  hinted  at,  viz.,  that 
each  of  us  is  full  of  living  beings,  both  good  and  ill. 
Her  blood  too  surged  through  her  veins  in  a  living 
flood,  and  enveloped  her  in  its  warmth.  Ditte  took 
plenty  of  time  to  wash  her  body  over  with  the  big 
sponge;  she  stretched  one  arm  up  in  the  air,  and  with 
the  other  washed  herself  in  the  armpit, — where  a  little 
cluster  of  rust-red  hair  grew  in  secret,  hidden  in  its  own 
perfume, — then   over   her   shoulders   and  back.     The 


DITTE'S  DAY  311 

white  curved  arm  could  reach  over  the  whole  body,  so 
flexible  had  she  become,  she  had  not  been  so  in  her 
early  'teens,  when  her  joints  cracked  and  hurt  her  at 
every  movement  not  strictly  necessary.  Ditte  had 
certainly  developed  properly  now,  and  she  was  glad 
of  it. 

She  had  sat  her  glass  on  the  washstand,  and  glanced 
at  her  reflection  in  it,  in  all  positions.  There  were  no 
more  sharp  knobs  down  her  back  now  when  she  bent 
forwards;  it  was  all  one  soft  curve.  Whatever  pose 
she  struck  gave  soft  delicate  lines,  the  hips  were  finely 
modeled — likewise  the  shoulders, — the  breasts  round 
and  firm.  They  did  not  hang  at  all,  and  the  nipples 
had  returned  to  their  natural  size  again :  Ditte  was 
glad  of  that:  they  looked  like  two  pink  raspberries  half 
buried  in  the  dark  halo  round  them,  which  melted  into 
the  creamy  splendor  of  breast  and  shoulder.  The 
brownish  stains  which  had  troubled  Ditte  greatly  had 
disappeared;  the  blood  had  purified  them.  The  abdo- 
men was  firm  again  too,  and  well  rounded;  it  seemed 
to  guard  the  untouched  fruit — a  pear  with  the  calyx 
upwards.  The  small  mother  o'  pearl  like  cleft  in  the 
layer  of  fat  under  the  skin  might  easily  have  been  over- 
looked. She  glanced  at  it  as  she  bent  forward  to 
wash  her  feet.  And  the  birthmark  on  her  thigh  would 
never  disappear  either:  it  had  always  filled  her  with 
a  mysterious  wonder,  family  birthmark  as  it  was !  She 
stood  balanced  on  one  leg,  leaning  far  over  so  that  her 
luxuriant  hair  fell  over  her  shoulders,  veiling  her  face 
and  dipping  into  the  wash-basin.  She  spanned  her 
ankle  with  her  fingers — the  small  bone  was  too  thick, 


312        DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

— that  came  from  the  endless  running  about.  This,  and 
a  varicose  vein  beginning  on  one  thigh,  caused  her  seri- 
ous disquietude. 

Otherwise  Ditte  was  satisfied  with  herself  as  far  as 
the  outward  appearance  went.  She  knew  that 
she  was  well  made  and  was  glad  of  it.  Why  so? 
Was  there  any  one  in  whose  eyes  she  wanted  to 
seem  desirable?  Or  was  there  a  lover  about  any- 
where? 

But  no,  Ditte  was  simply  not  awakened  yet!  She 
had  had  a  child,  and  yet  her  breast  was  the  abode  of 
chastity,  her  senses  still  slept,  untouched  by  any  warm 
longings  and  dreams.  She  merely  took  the  same  pleas- 
ure in  herself  that  an  artist  takes  in  a  beautiful  crea- 
tion of  his  own.  Ditte  had  no  sweetheart,  and  desired 
none.  All  her  feelings  of  that  kind  had  had  their  vent 
■ — now  she  was  practically  cold.  Like  a  miser  she  hid 
her  treasures  deep. 

At  a  quarter  to  seven  Ditte  was  downstairs.  She 
put  the  kettle  on  the  gas  ring  for  tea,  and  called  the 
children  who  had  to  go  to  school.  While  they  dressed 
she  did  the  dining-room  and  cut  the  sandwiches  for 
their  school  lunch.  They  generally  gathered  round 
her  and  pulled  on  their  coats  while  she  buttered  the 
bread,  and  then  arose  a  struggle  between  duty  and 
predilection.  It  was  a  Government  official's  family 
where  Ditte  was  now  in  service,  with  a  small  income, 
who  had  a  struggle  to  keep  up  appearances — one  of 
the  so-called  "New  Poor."  It  told  upon  the  children; 
they  were  always  hungry.  Ditte  willingly  gave  them 
all  the  food  she  could.     It  was  so  difficult  to  say  "No" 


DITTE'S  DAY  313 

to  hungry  youngsters;  especially  to  the  boys;  they  fol- 
lowed her  every  movement  with  greedy  eyes. 

"I  shall  catch  it  from  your  mother!"  she  said. 

*'0h!  Do  let  her  scold!"  they  pleaded.  "You  are 
so  good!"  They  really  meant  it,  and  were  fond  of 
her.  So  Ditte  had  to  bear  the  brunt  when  the 
lady  got  up  and  came  to  see  what  there  was  for  their 
own  lunch. 

At  eight  o'clock  the  master  got  his  coffee  and  morn- 
ing paper  before  he  went  to  the  office.  At  nine  o'clock 
the  mistress  had  hers  in  bed,  and  dozed  for  another 
quarter  of  an  hour.  She  had  given  birth  to  so  many 
children — four  in  all — and  was  not  to  tire  herself  by 
getting  up  too  early.  Half  an  hour  later  she  rang 
again;  she  was  ready  to  get  up:  Ditte  laid  out  her 
clothes  and  waited  on  her.  While  she  dressed,  she 
made  inquiries  as  to  the  progress  of  the  morning's 
work,  and  gave  her  orders  for  the  day. 

"Just  fancy,  you  are  not  through  yet !"  she  gener- 
ally exclaimed.  "You  certainly  come  down  far  too 
late." 

The  morning  was  the  worst  time  of  the  day.  Relay 
after  relay  of  the  family  had  to  be  waited  on,  and  the 
rooms  done  at  the  same  time.  It  was  nothing  but 
running  to  and  fro  between  the  rooms  and  the  kitchen, 
and  in  to  the  lady  every  time  she  rang.  When  Ditte 
had  cleaned  the  rooms  from  the  dirt  of  the  previous 
day,  and  made  them  warm  and  comfortable,  the  lady 
established  herself  there  and  she  could  get  in  to  the 
bedroom.  When  she  had  finished  there  it  was  time 
to  begin  getting  the  lunch  ready.     But  as  a  rule  she 


314         DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

had  to  go  into  the  rooms  and  do  something  or  other 
over  again. 

Ditte's  present  employers  were  well-bred  people; they 
never  scolded  at  her  or  quarreled  among  themselves 
either.  They  merely  corrected  her  in  their  own  quiet 
passionless  way,  which  often  hurt  more  than  angry 
words.  Anyhow  Ditte  wished  that  they  would  now 
and  then  lose  that  quiet  self-possession  if  in  return  they 
would  occasionally  express  satisfaction  and  gladness 
with  her.     But  they  never  thought  of  that. 

She  could  not  understand  this  continual  dissatisfac- 
tion. When  she  had  removed  the  dirt  and  discomfort 
of  the  previous  day,  and  made  the  home  comfortable 
again  for  the  family,  she  slipped  out  of  the  room  with 
the  dirt,  out  into  her  kitchen,  quite  satisfied  to  think. 
how  nice  she  had  made  it  for  the  others.  Before  she 
disappeared  she  would  cast  a  last  searching  glance  over 
the  room,  and  felt  th?at  it  was  comfortable  and  fit  to 
live  in.  And  shortly  after  the  lady  would  ring,  and 
lead  her  from  one  object  to  another,  dumbly  pointing. 
Good  gracious,  a  speck  of  dust!  So  much  was  to  be 
done !  She  might  just  as  well  have  rung  to  say:  "Ah! 
how  comfortable  and  warm  it  is  here !  Thanks  very 
much,  Kirstine." 

What  Ditte  missed  most  of  all  was  a  little  apprecia- 
tion. In  her  world  gratitude  was  a  prominent  charac- 
teristic: folks  were,  if  anything,  too  grateful.  Their 
very  principle  of  existence  lay  in  giving — and  in  be- 
ing thankful  that  one  had  it  to  give.  But  here  people 
only  accepted  everything,  and  that  so  ungraciously,  as 
if  it  were  a  natural  right.     She  had  entered  the  house 


DITTE'S  DAY  315 

overflowing  with  good-will,  and  was  therefore  well 
equipped  to  serve  others.  From  her  earliest  child- 
hood it  had  always  been  impressed  upon  her  how  she 
must  conduct  herself  when  the  tim.e  came  to  go  out 
into  service.  "Do  so  and  so,  and  then  you  will  be  able 
to  stay  a  long  time  in  one  place."  Now  all  that  v/as 
more  or  less  effaced  from  her  mind — the  gentry  no 
longer  appeared  to  her  as  exalted  human  beings, 
almost  superhuman  in  fact,  for  whose  sake  she 
really  existed — beings  to  serve  whom  was  a  mere 
duty. 

Now  she  was  much  wiser,  without  gaining  any  pre- 
cise happiness  from  this  wisdom.  It  was  her  nature 
to  serve  her  fellow-beings;  it  was  part  and  parcel  of 
her  inherent  goodness,  and  yet  she  could  not  set  limits 
to  it  without  feeling  poorer  in  herself.  But  it  was 
necessary  to  be  selfish  if  she  was  not  to  get  worn  out. 
Other  people  would  not  take  care  of  her;  but  let  her 
run  till  she  dropped.  These  people  had  shown  them- 
selves to  be  just  like  her  own  class — neither  worse  nor 
better,  and  when  it  came  to  the  point,  not  better  brought 
up  either.  They  had  however  one  advantage — they 
took  everything  for  granted  and  were  ungrateful  into 
the  bargain.  The  poor  folks  said:  "Now  you  must 
really  not  do  any  more  and  wear  yourself  out  for 
my  sake,"  and  thanked  those  who  did  them  a  service. 
If  one  worked  for  a  poor  man  he  always  came  and  said : 
"Now  we  will  stop  work  for  to-day!"  But  here  she 
could  never  do  enough.  "Can't  you  get  up  a  little 
earlier?"  or  "You  can  very  well  stay  a  little  later  this 
evening."     All  one's  strength  belonged  to  them  as  a 


3i6        DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

matter  of  course.  The  one  free  evening  in  the  week 
was  regarded  almost  as  a  theft. 

And  when  the  very  best  had  been  given,  apprecia- 
tion was  but  sparsely  doled  out.  What  Ditte  had 
stolen  from  her  sleep  or  her  free  time — a  special  effort, 
was  also  insufficient  as  a  rule.  They  had  expected  still 
more,  or  demanded  this  drain  on  her  strength  as  a 
daily  event.  Consideration  for  her  health  was  not 
of  course  to  be  expected,  but  in  order  not  to  be  com- 
pletely worn  out,  it  was  necessary  to  draw  in  one's 
horns,  and  only  do  one's  strict  duty.  It  was  good  for 
her  physically  that  she  found  this  out  in  time. 

But  it  was  not  so  good  for  the  soul  and  heart!  She 
got  rid  of  her  swollen  legs,  but  at  the  expense  of  some- 
thing higher — she  felt  this  herself  and  fretted  over  it. 
At  one  time  she  had  felt  that  the  inner  being  was  bet- 
ter developed  than  the  outer:  now  she  knew  that  the 
reverse  was  the  case.  She  knew  that  she  was  a  hand- 
some girl,  and  was  glad  of  it — if  only  she  had  been 
as  sure  that  she  was  a  good  one!  But  in  order  to 
stand  up  for  herself,  she  had  to  fight  agairtst  her  own 
best  qualities. 

So  she  learnt  the  despicable  virtue  called  self- 
preservation  :  she  became  slovenly,  her  mistresses  said. 
Ditte,  who  in  her  own  world  had  scarcely  ever  seen 
such  a  thing  as  laziness,  got  into  slovenly  v/ays.  She 
stipulated  just  how  much  work  she  was  to  do  when 
she  took  the  place,  and  kept  strictly  to  the  agreement. 
She  tried  to  avoid  places  where  there  v/ere  children, 
and  if  forced  to  take  one,  made  the  condition  that  she 
should  have  nothing  to  do  with  them.     Otherwise  she 


DITTE'S  DAY  317 

would  have  her  hands  full  both  early  and  late.  She 
often  felt  sorry,  but  hardened  her  heart,  lest  it  should 
be  used  to  her  undoing. 

The  city  had  long  since  cured  her  of  despondency 
or  lack  of  spirit.  It  had  gone  further  and  had  de- 
veloped a  certain  readiness  to  do  battle  that  often 
served  to  lay  the  storm  when  "bad  weather"  threat- 
ened. She  learnt  this  trick  from  washerwomen,  who 
were  the  bugbear  of  the  ladies,  but  who  well  under- 
stood how  to  hold  their  own. 

She  often  thought  of  imitating  her  friends,  who  one 
after  the  other  slipped  into  factory  work.  From  one 
point  of  view  they  had  a  m.uch  better  time  as  servants, 
— were  sure  of  food  and  shelter,  and  got  a  fixed  wage ; 
but  in  spite  of  this  they  preferred  factory  work.  Ditte 
could  quite  understand  it.  The  factory  was  cold  and 
gloomy  and  dusty — the  sun  seldom  appeared  within 
its  walls.  But  service  was  like  being  in  the  very  heart 
of  existence,  and  yet  feeling  none  of  its  warmth.  The 
more  comfortable  a  home  was,  the  more  lonely  one 
felt — when  one  was  not  a  dog!  The  girl  in  service 
was  like  the  virgin  in  the  fairy-tale,  who  had  to  hold 
the  candle  for  the  lovers — an  abominable  destiny! 

DItte  was  not  pleased  at  the  direction  her  develop- 
ment was  taking,  and  often  asked  herself  if  it  might 
not  be  she  who  was  unreasonable  and  took  everything 
in  the  wrong  spirit.  At  any  rate  one  was  happiest 
when  one  was  able  to  submit  to  the  conditions  of  a 
menial  position.  Tars  Peter  had  said  when  she  was 
going  out  to  service  after  her  confirmation,  that  a  serv- 


3i8         DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

ant  did  best  to  have  no  opinions;  and  she  would  have 
been  happier  if  she  had  been  able  to  keep  strictly  to 
this  all  her  days.  The  poor  did  best  to  be  silent  and 
submissive ! 

But  if  she  could  not,  what  then?  There  was  a 
rebellious  demon  in  her — she  knew  it  only  too  well, 
and  he  grew  and  waxed  lusty  and  fat.  One  evening 
on  coming  home  she  found  that  some  one  had  been  in 
her  room.  The  things  on  the  chest  of  drawers  had 
been  meddled  with.  This  had  happened  before,  but 
Ditte  could  not  stand  it  any  longer  now;  she  m.ust  have 
her  room  to  herself — the  one  place  in  the  world  where 
she  reigned  supreme.  So  a  collision  took  place  be- 
tween the  lady  and  herself  and  she  gave  notice. 

One  afternoon  she  was  out  looking  for  another 
place.  She  found  one  that  rather  appealed  to  her.  It 
was  with  an  old  lady,  the  widow  of  a  councilor.  The 
old  lady  repeated  time  after  time:  "So  you  have  no 
sweetheart!"  "No!"  answered  Ditte,  smiling,  "I  am 
so  afraid  of  having  a  strange  man  shut  up  in  the  flat — 
I  am  all  by  myself,  you  see."  They  agreed  as  to  the 
wages  and  the  work,  Ditte  had  seen  the  flat  and  could 
well  undertake  the  work.  "I  should  like  to  see  your 
references,"  said  the  lady.  And  suddenly  the  little 
demon  awoke  in  Ditte.  "Yes,  if  I  may  see  madam's 
references,"  she  returned.  The  old  lady  started  back 
as  if  a  poisonous  insect  had  stung  her.  "Girl !  What 
are  you  saying?"  she  exclaimed.  "Will  you  go  straight 
out  of  my  house?" 

Ditte  knew  afterwards  that  she  had  been  a  fool. 
Naturally  she  and  her  like  had  to  submit  to  cringing 


DITTE'S  DAY  319 

proofs  of  good  and  honest  behavior.  The  other  class 
needed  no  proofs — they  were  as  they  were,  and  the 
others  had  to  accommodate  themselves  to  that  state 
of  things.  She  would  not  go  and  look  for  any  more 
places — would  not  go  into  service  again  on  any  consid- 
eration. She  would  be  off  with  the  whole  thing,  take 
a  room  from  the  first  of  the  month,  and  look  for 
work. 

One  evening  there  were  visitors.  Every  time  Ditte 
went  into  the  room  she  caught  a  little  of  the  conver- 
sation. She  was  glad  to  find  that  as  far  as  the  ladies 
were  concerned  it  was  never  deeper  than  she  could 
well  follow.  And  as  to  appearance — well,  she  had  a 
better  neck  than  any  one  of  them.  If  she  were  to 
wear  a  low-cut  dress  she  would  certainly  take  the  wind 
out  of  the  sails  of  the  whole  lot.  And  without  this 
advantage  it  sometimes  happened  that  the  gentlemen 
neglected  their  ladies  so  far  as  to  send  her  an  apprecia- 
tive glance. 

"They  are  all  alike  at  bottom.  They  belong  to 
quite  a  different  world  from  ours,"  she  heard  one  of 
the  ladies  say  once  when  she  went  in.  Ditte  recog- 
nized the  tone :  they  had  got  on  to  the  servant  question. 
It  would  not  be  long  now  before  her  turn  came.  Right 
enough !  when  she  next  went  in,  the  conversation 
stopped  suddenly,  and  the  ladies  looked  criticizingly 
at  her.  This  was  one  of  her  most  bitter  experiences, 
when  she  really  grasped  the  fact  that  while  she  was 
running  to  and  fro  doing  her  best,  they  were  picking 
her  to  pieces,  making  merry  over  her  common  manners, 
and  amusing  the  guests  at  her  expense.     Nothing  had 


320        DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

made  her  feel  so  lonely  and  defenseless  as  this.  She 
could  not  defend  herself,  but  was  debarred  from  giving 
her  side  of  the  question.  She  was  an  inarticulate  be- 
ing who  had  only  to  be  dumb  and  do  her  work.  They 
patted  dogs  and  excused  nearly  everything  they  did: 
she  was  entirely  unprotected.  Gradually  she  came  to 
nourish  the  feeling  that  at  bottom  they  hated  her. 
They  accepted  her  work  because  that  was  unavoidable, 
but  she  herself  was  superfluous.  If  they  could  have 
dispensed  with  her  person,  and  retained  her  useful 
qualities,  they  would  have  done  so.  It  was  the  same 
to  her !  Nobody  could  make  a  laughing-stock  of  her 
any  more  now!  But  there  were  other  things  to  say 
about  her.  Well,  they  could  say  what  they  liked.  She 
no  longer  cared  the  least  bit  what  they  thought  of 
her. 

Yet  she  listened  at  the  door,  bitter  of  mood.  She 
heard  the  hostess  say  something,  and  a  couple  of  vis- 
itors laugh.  Then  a  man's  voice  said :  "Excuse  me, 
but  I  never  discuss  servants,  either  our  own  or  others. 
Our  own  is  under  the  protection  of  my  wife  and  my- 
self, as  long  as  she  is  with  us,  and  I  suppose  the  same 
holds  good  in  other  houses."  A  warm  feeling  glowed 
in  Ditte's  breast.  She  would  gladly  take  service  in 
that  house!  Soon  after  the  party  broke  up.  Ditte's 
eyes  glistened  her  thanks  when  she  helped  him  on  with 
his  coat.  She  was  so  grateful,  she  could  have  kissed 
him. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 
SPRING 

MRS.  VANG  and  Ditte  stood  In  the  kitchen  cook- 
ing; they  had  the  window  open,  and  the  sun. 
shone  in  and  made  long  sunbeams  of  vapor 
and  steam.      "Oh,   how  fresh  the   air  smells!"   cried 
Mrs.  Vang.      "We  are  coming  to  the  loveliest  time 
of  the  year." 

Out  in  the  garden  Mr.  Vang  and  the  children  were 
making  spring  discoveries;  they  scraped  manure  and 
dead  leaves  aside  and  shrieked  in  chorus  whenever  a 
flower  came  in  view.  Now  and  then  a  little  fellow 
came  up  to  the  window.  "Is  it  nearly  dinner-time? 
I'm  as  hungry  as  a  hunter!"  said  he. 

And  suddenly  the  whole  gang  were  there,  kicking 
up  a  great  commotion  under  the  window. 

"Something  to  eat,  give  us  something  to  eat, 
Or  we'll  knock  the  house  down  into  the  street." 

They  sang,  and  stamped  and  shook  their  fists  at  the 
window.  It  was  a  perfect  conspiracy.  "Throw  wa- 
ter over  them!"  said  the  lady  to  Ditte.  But  at  this 
the  whole  troop  ran  away,  screaming  as  if  the  devil 
was  at  their  heels.  Down  by  the  summer-house  they 
stopped  and  sang: 

"Oh!     Miss  Man,  you  just  dare 
To  throw  water  over  us  here." 

321 


322         DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

And  quite  unexpectedly  a  head  filled  the  upper  panes  of 
the  window.  "A  bodiless  head!"  shrieked  both  Ditte 
and  her  mistress.  It  was  only  Frederick,  the  eldest 
boy;  he  was  hanging  by  the  trellis  work.  "What  is 
there  for  dinner?"  he  asked,  In  his  funny  deep  voice. 

"Potatoes  and  burnt  fat,  Mr.  Ghost! — and  fried 
masons'  noses  for  dessert!"  answered  Mrs.  Vang,  with 
a  curtsey. 

The  boy  let  himself  drop  from  the  trellis,  and 
rushed  through  the  garden.  "I  saw  what  we  are  go- 
ing to  have  for  dinner,"  he  shouted. 

Ditte  laughed.  "They  are  just  like  our  boys  at 
home,"  said  she.  "They  were  always  desperately  hun- 
gry when  dinner-time  came  near." 

Mrs.  Vang  nodded — she  understood  boys,  and  could 
imagine  the  whole  scene  from  DItte's  description.  "So 
they  came  rushing  up  from  the  beach,"  said  she.  "Oh, 
the  glorious  beach !  It  must  have  been  splendid  all 
the  same,  in  spite  of  the  poverty.  Where  there  are 
children  there  is  no  real  poverty,  is  there?" 

"If  only  there  is  something  to  stuff  them  with!"  said 
Ditte,  wise  beyond  her  years. 

"Yes, — yes!"  the  lady  roused  herself.  "Yes,  it 
would  be  awful  if  one  had  not  enough!"  she  shud- 
dered.— "Now  run  up  and  tidy  yourself  a  little  while 
I  warm  the  gravy,  Miss  Man.  Then  we  will  sit  down 
to  dinner,"  said  she  quietly. 

This  time  DItte  did  not  drop  what  she  had  in  her 
hand,  as  she  did  the  first  day.  Then  she  had  asked: 
"Am  I  to  sit  down  with  you  to  dinner?"  In  such  an 
astonished  tone  that  the  lady  burst  out  laughing. 


SPRING  323 

"Yes,  of  course,"  Mrs.  Vang  had  answereu,  as  If  it 
were  the  most  natural  thing  in  the  world. 

Then  she  would  rather  have  escaped;  but  now  she 
too  thought  that  it  was  quite  natural,  although  only 
ten  days  had  gone  by.  Mr.  Vang  had  no  appetite 
when  he  knew  that  some  one  was  sitting  alone  in  the 
kitchen  munching  her  food,  the  lady  said;  and  Ditte 
understood  this  feeling.  As  a  child  when  she  came  to 
the  "Crow's  Nest"  she  had  found  it  impossible  to 
take  anything  herself  until  she  had  seen  that  they  were 
all  helped — the  animals  as  well.  No  doubt  she  had 
taken  after  Lars  Peter  in  that.  It  was  just  the  same 
with  him.  At  first,  however,  It  was  surprising  to  meet 
any  one  else  who  was  the  same. 

It  was  a  little  difficult  the  first  few  days.  Now  she 
had  got  unaccustomed  to  sitting  down  with  other  peo- 
ple: for  years  she  had  chewed  her  food  alone.  In  the 
corner  by  the  sink.  It  was  quite  strange  to  sit  and 
eat  In  human  society,  and  that  too  with  her  own  em- 
ployers.    How  stupid  and  awkward  she  was! 

But  no  one  seemed  to  notice  her  blushes  and  em- 
barrassment. She  and  the  lady  took  turns  in  fetch- 
ing the  things  from  the  kitchen  during  the  meal,  and 
the  children  at  once  made  her  join  in  the  conversa- 
tion. They  put  question  after  question  relentlessly, 
till  she  answered.  "Why  was  there  only  one  twin? 
Why  did  she  always  speak  North  Sealand  dialect?" 
etc. 

"Now  you  must  let  Miss  Man  have  a  little  peace," 
said  the  mother.  "There  will  be  plenty  of  time  to  get 
to  know  everything." 


324        BITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

"Will  she  stay  here  always?"  one  of  the  small  boys 
immediately  asked.  And  Inge  looked  mischievously 
up  from  her  plate.  "Why  are  you  called  Miss  Man? 
You  are  a  woman!"  She  was  five  and  full  of  mis- 
chief. 

"That  is  because  she  would  like  to  get  married," 
said  Frederick  contemptuously.  "Women  always 
■want  to."  Mrs.  Vang  smiled  at  her  husband,  who  sat 
feeding  the  two-year-old  kiddie;  he  always  had  him  on 
his  knee  at  meals. 

"You  must  not  make  puns  on  the  name  'Man,'  " 
said  Mr.  Vang,  "for  it  is  the  oldest  and  the  most  wide- 
spread family  name  here  in  this  country.  We  should 
have  fared  badly  without  the  Mans.  Once  they  owned 
the  whole  land;  but  then  a  bad  fairy  came  and  be- 
witched them  all.  He  was  called  Stomach,  because  he 
was  nothing  but  stomach.  But  the  Mans  had  a  heart 
for  their  weapon  and  device." 

"Oh!"  .said  the  children,  with  big  eyes  fixed  on 
Ditte.  "So  it  is  a  fairy  story,  and  about  you.  You 
must  be  a  fairy  princess!  What  next?  Did  they 
never  get  away  from  the  bad  fairy?" 

"No,  not  yet.  But  when  he  eats  right  in  to  their 
heart,  then  they  will  be  free.  For  that  will  stick  in 
his  wicked  throat." 

Ditte  really  felt  a  little  like  a  fairy  princess.  Not 
because  there  was  less  to  do  here — quite  the  contrary! 
The  Vangs  had  not  too  much  money — they  washed 
at  home,  and  made  their  own  clothes,  and  every  penny 
was  turned  over  twice.     The  children's  clothes  made 


SPRING  325 

a  great  deal  of  work,  they  had  to  be  worn  as  long  as 
possible,  and  yet  look  neat.  The  work  basket  was  on 
the  table  every  evening.  But  this  was  a  life  in  which 
Ditte  found  herself  at  home.  She  knew  the  button 
bag,  where  all  the  old  buttons  were,  and  where  every- 
thing one  needed  was  to  be  found,  and  the  bag  for  the 
clean  linen  and  woolen  rags.  She  had  unraveled  old 
stocking  legs  for  darning  wool  before  to-day,  and  once 
more  tasted  the  joy  of  making  something  out  of  noth- 
ing, transformed  by  the  help  of  some  old  cast-off  thing. 
She  had  missed  the  love  of  things  as  she  had  missed 
the  love  of  her  fellow-beings.  In  this  respect  the  one 
was  like  the  other — something  once  used  and  cast  aside 
when  it  was  no  longer  worth  keeping.  People  and 
things — into  the  dust-bin  with  them  when  they  could  be 
of  no  more  use:  when  it  did  not  pay  to  keep  life  in 
them,  and  patch  them  up.  It  was  delightful  to  be  a 
human  being  again — to  be  among  human  beings — 
glorious  to  be  the  object  of  attentions,  and  be  allowed 
to  bestow  them. 

There  was  enough  to  do  from  morning  to  night. 
In  the  evening  when  the  children  were  in  bed,  they 
sat  round  the  lamp  with  their  darning  and  patching, 
both  Ditte  and  her  mistress.  Mrs.  Vang  was  incredi- 
bly clever  with  her  fingers — Ditte  could  not  hold  a 
candle  to  her.  They  sat  each  with  her  own  thoughts : 
Ditte  was  not  much  company  in  herself,  and  Mrs. 
Vang,  who  was  so  happy  and  lively  all  day,  grew  quiet 
in  the  evening  like  the  birds.  Ditte  sat  and  drank  in 
the  wonderfully  peaceful  silence  which  reigned  in  the 
house,  when  the  children  slept  and  good  hands  worked 


326         DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

for  them.  And  she  forgot  where  she  was,  and  dreamt 
that  she  was  at  home  in  the  sitting-room — the  little 
mother — with  the  little  ones  in  bed,  and  the  cares  of 
the  day  behind  her,  weary  and  thoughtful.  Did  Ditte 
long  for  her  troublesome  childhood  again?  She  laid 
her  head  on  her  arm  and  wept  gently. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  you?"  Mrs.  Vang  took 
her  bead  upon  her  shoulder.  "What  troubles  you, 
child?" 

"Oh!  you  are  too  good  to  me,"  answered  Ditte,  sob- 
bing and  yet  trying  to  smile. 

Mrs.  Vang  laughed.  "That  Is  not  generally  a  rea- 
son for  crying." 

"No,  but  I  never  played  when  I  was  a  child — that 
is  so  strange !" 

Mrs.  Vang  looked  questionlngly  at  her.  She  could 
not  follow  her  train  of  thought  now. 

"I  ought  to  have  come  here  long  ago !"  said  Ditte, 
and  nestled  up  to  her  mistress. 

And  here  she  touched  on  precisely  the  thing  that  had 
harmed  her:  she  had  been  out  a  little  too  long,  and 
could  have  missed  a  good  deal  of  it,  without  harm  to 
herself.  It  had  had  time  to  corrode  her  soul  too 
much.  Just  as  she  often  said  "Sir"  and  "Madam," 
without  meaning  to,  instinctively — the  Vangs  had  dis- 
tinctly forbidden  her  to  use  such  forms  of  politeness — 
she  would  suddenly  rouse  herself  up  and  be  on  her 
guard.  "Might  It  not  be  that  they  are  so  kind  in 
order  to  get  more  out  of  me?"  some  Inner  self  would 
inquire,  especially  if  she  were  tired.  There  was  just 
as  much  to  do  here  as  elsewhere,  one  had  really  never 


SPRING  327 

time  to  get  through  one's  work.  The  lady  took  her 
full  share  in  it  all,  and  if  one  had  to  be  up  specially 
early,  she  came  up  and  called  Ditte,  cheerful  and  fresh; 
as  soon  as  her  brisk  step  w^s  heard  on  the  stair,  it 
gave  a  glad  color  to  the  day.  Work  here  was  not 
oppressive,  however  much  there  might  be  to  do,  it 
Vv-as  not  piled  up,  because  one  of  the  parties  had 
sneaked  out  of  her  full  share,  neither  was  it  despised, 
there  was  nothing  of  the  yoke   about  it. 

Ditte  had  no  longer  the  feeling  that  she  had  to  bear 
others'  burdens.  She  had  only  reached  bedrock  in  her 
iinweariedness,  through  having  abused  it.  She  went 
about  tired  out,  and  had  to  be  set  going  again.  She 
often  felt  as  if  something  inside  her  had  broken  and 
wanted  winding  up.  A  look  of  surprise  from  the  lady 
was  enough  to  ease  her  over  the  difficulty;  but  shame 
and  regret  in  her  soul  would  set  her  right  again.  And 
to  excuse  herself  she  accused  others!  That  idea  of 
having  her  to  table  and  downstairs  with  them  In  the 
evening,  was  It  not  perhaps  something  they  had 
thought  of  to  have  more  control  over  her,  and  to  save, 
— It  was  always  wise  to  never  reckon  on  anything  un- 
selfish on  the  others'  part!  Now  and  then  she  burned 
with  shame  that  she  could  be  so  suspicious — most  of 
all  when  she  felt  once  more  happy  and  contented  with 
her  existence — then  came  regret.  It  was  bewllderingly 
difficult  to  find  a  solution — so  long  as  it  lasted,  and 
sometimes  Ditte  in  desperation  began  to  attack  both 
herself  and  others.  Then  Mrs.  Vang  had  to  speak 
seriously  to  her  till  she  became  quiet. 

But  this  was  only  a  hasty  mood.     Her  mind  had 


328        DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

developed  under  the  weight  of  burdens  too  heavy  for 
it,  just  as  her  body  had  done  in  her  childhood.  It 
would  take  time  to  right  itself  entirely.  She  had 
come  out  into  the  sunlight  a  little  too  hastily,  and  blun- 
dered about,  butting  hither  and  thither.  It  was  not  a 
graceful  motion.  But  the  new  perfected  nature  was 
forming. 

Ditte  developed  and  blossomed  day  by  day,  and  the 
spring  drew  nearer  and  nearer.  Never  before  had 
she  known  that  the  spring  was  such  an  incomprehensi- 
bly lovely  season.  At  home  she  had  never  noticed  it 
properly,  and  only  welcomed  it  for  the  lightening  of 
her  duties,  when  the  youngsters  could  run  out  all  day 
long,  and  they  had  no  longer  to  wonder  where  they 
could  get  fuel  from.  Perhaps  too  the  years  of  con- 
finement within  the  barrack  walls  of  the  city  had 
opened  her  eyes.  The  meadows  and  she  ran  races 
to  see  which  should  thaw  first,  hidden  springs  welled 
up  within  her,  then  burst  suddenly  forth,  singing  in 
silver-toned  melody  to  the  spring  as  they  danced  along. 
So  many  mysterious  and  elusive  things  moved  within 
her,  leaving  in  their  train  sweet  melancholy  or  musical 
mirth.  The  evenings  deepened  the  sadness,  and  then 
came  the  nights — the  moonlit  nights  when  sleep  would 
not  come  for  the  strange  white  light  that  transfigured 
the  whole  room.  Then  one  had  to  be  careful  that 
the  moonlight  did  not  shine  on  one's  face  while  sleep- 
ing. Granny  had  told  Ditte  that  this  had  cost  many 
a  young  girl  her  life's  happiness,  and  Ditte  still  firmly 
believed  it. 


SPRING  329 

And  so  the  days  glided  on,  each  a  little  longer  and 
lighter  than  the  preceding  one — and  a  shade  warmer. 
In  the  garden  something  new  happened  every  day, 
now  one  bush  burst  into  bloom,  now  another.  The 
children  kept  a  sharp  lookout,  and  came  in  with  news, 
and  then  every  one  had  to  go  out  to  welcome  the  new 
miracle,  and  Mr.  Vang  explained  it.  He  knew  the 
name  of  every  single  plant  In  the  garden,  how  it  fed 
and  propagated,  and  nearly  how  it  thought!  Up  In 
his  study  all  the  walls  were  covered  with  bookshelves. 
Ditte  shuddered  to  think  of  all  that  he  must  have  in  his 
head. 

But  the  sun  mounted  higher  and  higher.  When  It 
had  roused  up  the  flowers  and  bushes,  It  took  hold 
of  the  great  trees.  And  one  day  It  reached  the  corner 
of  the  house,  and  shone  In  on  Ditte  through  the  gable 
window  just  as  she  was  sitting  at  the  table  writing  a 
letter,  and  It  threw  a  kiss  on  her  cheek  that  was  warm 
and  red  before  Its  coming,  rested  a  moment  In  the  hair 
round  her  smooth  forehead,  and  then  disappeared  be- 
hind the  forest. 

The  lady  came  up  with  a  letter.  It  was  from  a 
young  gardener  who  had  a  market  garden  near,  and 
had  been  several  times  to  the  house  with  things  for 
the  garden:  he  wanted  Ditte  to  go  with  him  to  a  ball 
at  Lundehus  Inn.  "We  must  soon  seriously  think 
about  getting  you  away,"  said  Mrs.  Vang.  "Things 
can't  go  on  like  this.  You  turn  the  heads  of  all  the 
voung  men  round  about.  Before  you  came  we  could 
hardly  get  the  tradespeople  to  call,  and  now  we  have 
scarcely  time  to  do  anything  but  run  out  and  say: 


330        DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

'No,  thanks!  We  don't  want  anything  to-day.'  Do 
you  know  what  people  here  have  nicknamed  you? 
Miss  Touch-me-not!" 

Ditte  blushed,  and  Mrs.  Vang's  clear  laughter  rang 
out.  Then  Mr.  Vang  came  over  the  drying  loft  from 
his  study.  He  put  his  head  in  at  the  door  with  a  comic 
expression  of  embarrassment.  He  had  to  stoop  more 
than  usual  to  get  his  head  under  the  lintel. 

"Come  in,  come  in,"  said  Mrs.  Vang,  He  came 
warily  in ;  Ditte  gave  him  a  chair,  and  sat  down  on 
the  couch  with  the  lady. 

"It's  really  quite  nice  here,"  said  he,  looking  round. 
"But  there  are  no  books!  Wouldn't  you  like  some- 
thing to  read?" 

"Yes — es !"  Ditte  hesitated,  she  was  ashamed  to 
let  him  know  that  she  never  read.  "Might  I  have 
'Robinson  Crusoe'?"  she  asked — she  had  dipped  into 
it  downstairs  with  the  children.  She  did  not  know 
the  names  of  any  other  books.  But  she  was  not  happy 
about  it.  She  thought  he  would  ask  her  to  say  pieces 
of  it  by  heart  afterwards,  and  she  had  never  been  good 
at  learning  by  heart. 

"You  shall  have  something  that  is  just  as  amusing," 
promised  Mr.  Vang.  "But  shan't  we  go  out  for  a 
walk,  Marie?" 

"I  will  stay  with  the  children  this  evening,  and  Miss 
Man  can  go  with  you,"  said  Mrs.  Vang. 

They  walked  westwards  towards  the  evening  sky, 
Vang,  Frederick  and  Ditte.  Vang  was  in  the  middle, 
and  talked — about  some  disturbance  in  Copenhagen : 
Ditte  thought  he  spoke  wonderfully,  she  did  not  un- 


SPRING  331 

derstand  the  half  of  it.  But  a  higher  world  opened 
to  her  through  his  quiet  voice,  a  world  where  one  was 
far  above  questions  of  food  and  money  and  envious 
backbiting.  This  was  the  existence  Ditte  had  imag- 
ined to  belong  to  the  upper  classes,  now  she  beheld  her 
idea  realized,  a  life  lived  in  beautiful  thoughts — in 
forbearance,  and  love  to  those  in  a  lower  station.  God 
sat  up  above  and  watched  over  us  all  with  loving  for- 
bearance, and  on  the  way  up  to  Him,  he  had  placed  the 
gentry — considerably  nearer  Himself  than  she  and  her 
life — and  in  a  purer,  sweeter  atmosphere.  That 
evening  she  felt  that  she  was  lifted  up  with  them,  and 
wandered  fully  awakened  in  the  poor  man's  dream- 
land. 

"The  poor  will  be  able  to  sing:  'How  beautiful  is 
the  earth,  and  how  glorious  is  God's  Heaven !'  That 
IS,  in  reality,  what  the  struggle  is  about,"  said  Vang. 

"Why  do  they  drink,  and  make  themselves  still 
more  miserable?"  asked  Frederick,  in  his  deep 
voice. 

"Because  brandy  is  the  only  power  that  does  them 
justice.  So  they  sing  their  song  of  praise  through 
that.     It  is  not  their  fault  if  it  sounds  a  little  thick." 

"Yes,  Father  said  once  :  'It  must  be  splendid  to  think 
real  thoughts,'  but  then  he  had  taken  a  drop,"  inter- 
posed Ditte,  "When  he  is  sober,  he  does  not  dare  to 
think  about  existence;  it  is  too  sad,  he  says." 

They  both  looked  up  into  Vang's  face  as  they  walked 
along  on  either  side  of  him.  The  last  rays  of  the  set- 
ting sun  were  reflected  in  his  glasses.  Frederick  had 
slipped  his  arm  through  his  father's. 


332        DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

"Take  Father's  other  arm !"  he  said  to  Ditte.  "One 
can  walk  better  like  that." 

Ditte  was  completely  happy.  As  they  walked  thus, 
all  three  in  a  group,  she  might  have  been  taken  for 
Frederick's  elder  sister,  or  Vang's  wife.  They 
hummed  a  tune  together,  as  they  came  down  the  hill 
towards  the  house.  "Through  the  fair  kingdoms  of 
earth !" 

Mrs,  Vang  stood  at  the  garden  gate.  "You  have 
been  a  long  time  away!"  said  she,  "and  so  many  young 
men  have  gone  by  this  evening!" 

"Yes,"  said  Vang.  "We  must  really  see  about  get- 
ting Miss  Man  engaged.  She  is  a  danger  to  all  her 
acquaintances." 

Ditte  smiled — no,  she  would  not  marry. 

But  she  was  in  love — only  not  with  any  man.  It 
was  the  spring  that  welled  up  in  her,  and  filled  her  with 
its  vigor  and  luxuriance — without  any  definite  object. 


CHAPTER  XXX 
GOOD  DAYS 

MRS.  VANG  did  things  in  her  own  way.  They 
always  dined  at  one  o'clock  in  her  house  so  as 
to  make  things  a  little  easier  in  the  afternoon, 
and  often,  when  they  stood  in  the  kitchen  cooking,  she 
would  say:  "The  afternoon  is  the  best  time.  You  can 
stay  up  in  your  room,  and  look  after  your  own  things 
a  bit."  It  almost  seemed  as  if  she  understood  that 
Ditte  too  needed  to  be  alone  sometimes,  and  hold  com- 
munion with  her  own  little  circle. 

So  she  went  upstairs  and  pottered  about,  cleaned  up, 
and  moved  things  about  to  see  how  they  would  look 
in  another  position;  and  all  this  rested  her  thoroughly. 
She  could  hear  Mr.  Vang  moving  about  in  his  study 
opposite,  and  went  about  very  softly  not  to  disturb 
him.  When  he  was  writing,  they  all,  without  excep- 
tion, went  about  on  tip-toes,  although  he  did  not  wish 
them  to — unexacting  as  he  was.  It  came  quite  natu- 
rally, when  Mrs.  Vang  said,  "Father  is  working!" 
it  was  just  as  if  she  had  put  a  spell  on  them.  Only 
the  toddlers  paid  no  heed  to  it,  but  came  storming  un- 
abashed up  the  stairs  to  show  father  something  won- 
derful they  had  found — a  stone  or  a  rusty  nail!  The 
mother  came  rushing  after.  "Children,  children!" 
she  would  cry  in  hushed  tones,  but  Vang  would  come 
out  and  take  them  into  his  room  for  a  minute.     As 

333 


334         DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

his  door  opened  a  cloud  of  tobacco  smoke  floated  over 
the  loft  and  penetrated  to  Ditte's  room,  just  enough 
to  have  a  fascinating  influence.  It  was,  however,  im- 
possible to  sit  in  his  study :  he  sat  enveloped  in  a  cloud 
of   smoke. 

*'Then  he  thinks  he  is  in  Heaven !  Otherwise  he 
cannot  write  !"  observed  Mrs.  Vang  jestingly.  She  was 
always  scolding  him  for  smoking  so  much,  but  at  the 
same  time  liked  him  to  smell  of  tobacco. 

How  clean  and  tidy  it  was  here.  The  old  iron 
bedstead  had  white  flounced  hangings  at  the  ends,  so 
that  the  iron  did  not  show,  and  the  wooden  washstand 
had  white  draperies;  there  were  thick  white  curtains 
in  front  of  the  window  to  draw  across  at  night.  Ditte 
liked  her  room:  one  could  see  that  from  the  shining 
cleanliness  in  every  corner, — everything  smelt  newly 
starched  and  freshly  scoured.  Here  she  had  let  fall 
the  first  tears  of  joy  shed  since  she  came  to  town — 
in  fact,  since  she  had  grown  up.  It  was  the  day,  now 
some  months  ago,  when  Impoverished  in  soul,  she  had 
entered  it  for  the  first  time.  The  little,  poorly  fur- 
nished room  shone  with  friendliness,  and  in  a  vase  by 
the  bedside  stood  flowers.  It  was  the  first  time  in 
her  life  Ditte  had  been  welcomed  with  flowers;  they 
stood  there  like  a  promise  of  sweet  rest  and  pleasant 
dreams.  Since  then  she  always  saw  to  there  being 
flowers  there;  she  picked  them  in  the  evening  when  she 
went  for  a  walk  along  the  hedgerows,  and  they  were 
placed  on  the  little  table  by  the  bedside.  There  they 
should  stand ! 

On  the  chest  of  drawers  lay  a  big  mussel  shell  Ditte 


GOOD  DAYS  335 

had  once  found  on  the  beach  down  by  the  Hill  Farm. 
Except  for  this  there  was  nothing  to  remind  her  of 
the  past.  The  photo  of  her  little  boy  lay  deep  hidden 
in  a  drawer;  there  was  no  need  to  leave  that  lying 
about.  It  only  led  to  questions,  and  when  people  knew 
the  truth,  they  would  look  down  on  her.  Ditte  could 
not  afford  to  have  an  upset  here  in  this  house,  through 
unnecessary  candor.  She  scarcely  missed  the  child  it- 
self any  longer:  now  and  then  she  longed  for  it,  but 
this  longing  no  longer  seemed  like  a  tearing  at  her 
heart,  an  unbearable  desire  clutching  at  her  hands. 
She  had  not  been  home  for  ages  either,  but  Mrs.  Vang 
had  promised  her  a  fortnight's  summer  holiday;  then 
she  really  would  go  home  and  see  them. 

She  had  enough  to  do  in  developing.  To  the  out- 
ward eye,  no  change  could  be  seen,  but  she  grew  in- 
wardly, she  was  sowing  seeds !  The  town  looked  quite 
different  from  here,  the  boundary  line  between  town 
and  country,  from  what  it  had  done  when  she  was 
down  among  all  those  barracks.  Here  one  could  sur- 
vey both  them  and  their  inmates.  That  was  no  doubt 
why  Vang  lived  out  here,  to  get  a  bird's-eye  view !  He 
called  it  the  heart  of  the  country.  Ditte  did  not  un- 
derstand that — she  thought  of  it  rather  as  a  big  stom- 
ach.— What  a  quantity  of  food  it  devoured  as  time 
went  on!  Had  not  she  herself  nearly  been  swallowed 
up  by  it?  But  out  here  in  Villa  Vang  she  quite  liked 
the  town;  they  only  went  in  for  the  day,  looked  at 
the  shops  and  made  purchases.  Or  they  went  in  to 
the  Zoological  Gardens — the  whole  lot  of  them. 

From  her  window  she  could  see  Frederiksborg  Road, 


336         DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

which  ran  out  into  the  country,  and  on  either  side  of 
it  fields,  farms,  hedges  and  houses.  The  farmers  were 
plowing,  the  cattle  grazing,  and  wayfarers  tramped 
along  the  highroad,  each  intent  on  his  own  business. 
There  were  cornfields,  and  meadows  and  woods,  and 
one  enormous  market  garden.  The  birds  sang,  now 
rain  fell,  or  the  wind  blew  cold,  and  afterwards  came 
the  sun  and  warmed  it  again.  It  was  beautiful — and 
wonderful,  since  God,  the  all-powerful,  had  created 
it.  But  on  the  table  in  Ditte's  room  lay  a  little  square 
object — a  book.  Vang  had  written  it,  and  it  was  not 
easy  to  understand  how  people  could  possibly  produce 
such  things;  for  when  they  were  opened  and  one  looked 
at  the  printed  pages,  the  world  stepped  forth  in  glow- 
ing colors — a  world  one  had  never  seen,  and  which 
had  never  existed;  but  which  one  seemed  to  know  quite 
well — with  towns  and  farms,  fishing  villages,  and  hu- 
man beings  with  their  joys  and  sorrows.  Ditte  thought 
it  was  wonderful,  that  merely  by  glancing  from  the 
window  down  upon  the  book  she  could  call  up  an 
entirely  different  world.  It  was  magic!  The  mistress 
said  he  had  written  a  whole  mass  of  books  like  that 
one,  and  in  his  study  he  had  many  more,  hundreds 
of  them,  written  by  other  people,  and  every  one  of 
them  different!  Now  she  would  take  great  care  not 
to  make  a  noise  when  she  went  up  to  her  room  of  an 
evening.  The  spirits  should  not  have  to  take  flight 
on  her  account.  She  knew  now  what  was  at  stake. 
Vang  often  sat  up  there  nearly  all  night,  and  when 
she  woke  she  could  see  a  ray  of  light  stream  over  the 
ceiling  through  the  half-open  door — for  he  kept  the 


GOOD  DAYS  337 

door  open  to  let  out  the  tobacco  smoke.  He  had  to 
smoke  or  he  could  do  nothing!  It  was  wonderful  to 
think  that  her  master  sat  there  and  saw  visions  in  the 
blue  smoke.  And  in  the  darkness  the  thought  would 
cross  Ditte's  mind  whether  if  the  Lord  had  not 
created  the  Vv'orld,  Vang  could  not?  She  was  not 
sure  which  would  have  been  best!  But  at  any  rate 
love  was  more  beautiful  in  Vang's  created  world  than 
in  our  Lord's  1 

Ditte  sat  reading,  with  her  hands  pressed  over  her 
ears  lest  any  unwarranted  noise  should  intrude.  It 
disturbed  her  when  she  heard  the  rumble  of  wheels 
from  the  road,  at  a  place  in  the  book  where  there 
should  be  no  carriages.  In  spite  of  this  she  dis- 
tinctly heard  her  mistress  call  out,  in  a  most  surprised 
voice:  *'Why,  that  is  Lars  Peter!"  and  slam  a  door, 
and  run  up  the  path  in  front  of  the  house. 

Ditte  hurried  downstairs.  There  they  really  were 
on  the  road — Lars  Peter,  Sine  and  all  the  youngsters — 
a  good  load!  Mrs.  Vang  kissed  Sine  right  on  the  lips. 
"You  must  excuse  me !"  she  said,  and  smiled,  but  I 
have  got  to  like  you  all  so  much — through  Ditte."  She 
looked  at  them  all,  one  after  the  other,  with  glisten- 
ing eyes. 

"Well,  sTie  hasn't  said  bad  things  of  us  behind  our 
backs,  or  put  us  to  shame  either !"  said  Lars  Peter,  in 
high  spirits.  He  leaned  on  the  horse's  crupper,  as  he 
crawled  out  of  the  cart.  "Good-day,  my  lass!"  He 
pinched  Ditte's  cheek  and  shook  her  gently.  "It  is 
good  to  see  you  again !" 


338         DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

Then  Frederick  came  rushing  up,  and  little  Inge, 
and  the  boys,  they  came  from  all  sides.  And  Vang 
came  hurrying  from  the  back  garden  with  the  smallest 
in  his  arms.  "Gee-gee!"  cried  the  baby;  "gee-gee!" 
and  snorted  till  the  foam  stood  on  his  chin. 

They  meant  to  go  on  into  the  town  at  once :  the 
horse  was  tired  and  needed  stabling.  Lars  Peter  had 
hoped  that  Ditte  could  get  the  day  free  and  go  with 
them.  But  there  was  no  question  of  that.  Mrs.  Vang 
declared  they  must  go  in  and  get  something  to  eat — 
then  they  could  always  make  other  plans:  and  Vang 
said  the  same. 

Lars  Peter  stood  gazing  at  the  ground,  and  dug 
his  hands  into  his  greatcoat  pockets,  while  Ditte  and 
Mrs.  Vang  pulled  at  him,  one  on  each  side.  It  looked 
as  if  he  was  searching  for  something;  but  he  was  merely 
embarrassed  and  wished  to  gain  time. 

"What  do  you  say,  Mother?"  he  asked  thought- 
fully. But  Sine  would  do  nothing  but  smile ;  there 
were  deep  dimples  in  her  red  cheeks.  When  Lars 
Peter  let  himself  be  carried  off,  Povl  and  Rasmus 
busied  themselves  with  the  harness  and  cart.  They 
had  grown  into  big  boys  since  Ditte  left  home :  they 
were  two  regular  rascals ! 

Then  Lars  Peter  had  to  go  up  to  Vang's  study  to 
have  a  cigar.  There  was  no  smoking  downstairs  for 
the  children's  sake.  He  was  quite  stupefied  at  the 
sight  of  so  many  books.  "Can  you  ever  read  them 
all  through?"  he  asked  doubtfully. 

Vang  had  to  admit  that  there  were  many  of  them 
he  had  not  read,  and  probably  never  would.      "I  have 


GOOD  DAYS  339 

never  been  much  of  a  scholar  for  reading,"  said  Lars 
Peter,  "it  doesa't  go  well  with  out-of-doors  work — I 
get  so  sleepy  when  1  come  in  and  sit  me  down.  But 
I  should  just  fancy  that  it  might  be  the  same  with 
books  as  with  folks — them  that  one  knows  one  comes 
to  like  and  to  try  to  draw  the  best  out  of  them.  For 
all  that  it  must  be  powerful  tiresome  work  to  sit  there 
and  write  a  fair  hand.  Dang  me  if  any  one  should 
get  me  to  do  it,  even  if  I  could." 

"No,  you  are  quite  right:  it's  not  amusing,"  said 
Vang  seriously.  "I  would  gladly  change  with  you, 
and  drive  along  the  highway.  But  I  feel  there  is 
something  in  me  that  I  must  get  written  down — which 
perhaps  no  one  else  can  write.  And  it  is  but  seldom 
that  people  look  at  the  matter  so  sensibly  as  you;  the 
greater  number  envy  one." 

Then  the  women  came  up  with  the  coffee;  they  drank 
it  on  the  little  balcony  outside  Vang's  study.  "This 
is  a  great  honor  for  you,  Lars  Peter,"  said  Mrs.  Vang 
right  out,  "for  no  strangers  are  allowed  up  here.  But 
we  like  you  so  much.  You  don't  know  how  much  we 
have  talked  about  you  and  the  children,  and  of  the 
life  down  there  In  the  village."  She  grew  quite 
flushed. 

"And  I  can  darned  well  like  you — next  to  my  own 
little  wife  naturally,"  returned  Lars  Peter.  "You  are 
a  real  fine  lady !  But  how  the  devil,  I  nearly  said  right 
out  when  I  came,  could  you  have  known  that  it  was 
me?  The  lass  couldn't  have  photographed  us  all  for 
you  to  see !" 

"My  wife   has   second-sight!"   said   Vang,    looking 


340        DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

teasingly  at  her.  "But  you  must  have  the  same  if  you 
can  see  that  she  Is  a  fine  lady.  For  no  one  else  has 
noticed  that  up  to  now.  She  doesn't  do  much  either 
to  show  that  she  is  a  commander's  daughter." 

"You   are   quite   annoyed   about  that!"    said   Mrs. 

Vang,  stroking  her  husband's  hair.     "But  you  must 

excuse  me  if  I   disappear  for  a  moment.      Ditte  can 

very  well  stay  up  here  for  a  bit."     She  made  a  sign 

o  her  husband,  who  followed  her  to  the  study. 

"1  don't  believe  they  have  any  money,"  whispered 
Ditte  to  her  father,  "and  they  are  so  worried  about 
it:  and  don't  know  what  to  do." 

"But  we  really  haven't  come  to  put  them  out:  we 
only  wished  to  have  a  look  at  you."  Lars  Peter  was 
quite  alarmed. 

"They  have  talked  so  often  about  your  coming  here 
— I  do  think  they  will  be  so  sorry  if  you  go  away  now. 
Have  you  any  money.  Father?" 

"You  can  be  sure  I  have,  my  lass !"  exclaimed  Lars 
Peter,  quite  relieved.  "That's  jolly  lucky.  WeVe 
just  drawn  some  of  Sine's  money,  we  wanted  to  see 
about  something  while  we  were  in  town."  He  took  a 
hundred-crown  note  from  his  pocketbook  and  gave  it 
to  her, — the  book  was  quite  bulging  with  money,  as 
Ditte  noticed  with  pride.  "Yes,  isn't  It  a  wealthy 
mother  we  have  got?"  Lars  Peter  glanced  fondly  at 
Sine.  "But  we  are  not  going  to  waste  it,  you  un- 
derstand. That  Is  to  be  the  beginning  of  a  business. 
Now  how  will  you  arrange  it  with  your  master  and 
mistress  here?" 

"I'll  run  down  myself  to  the  grocer,"  said  Ditte. 


GOOD  DAYS  341 

"May  I  spend  it  all?     For  then  I  can  pay  what  we 
owe." 

"She's  grown  into  a  splendid  girl,  don't  you  think 
so?"  remarked  Lars  Peter  when  she  had  gone. 

"That  she  always  was!"  said  Sine.  "She  deserves 
a  good  husband." 

"One  like  me,  eh?"  laughed  Lars  Peter.  "Yes,  but 
I  was  a  little  bit  afraid  she  was  beginning  to  be  a  fine 
lady." 

Mrs.  Vang  came  out  to  them.  The  girl  must  have 
told  her  about  the  money  after  all,  for  she  came  and 
stood  behind  his  chair  and  took  him  by  the  shoulders. 
She  did  not  say  a  word,  but  thoughtfully  ruffled  the 
hair  on  the  nape  of  his  neck;  then  suddenly  she  bent 
over,  and  kissed  him  on  the  big  bald  spot  on  the  crown 
of  his  head. 

"Good  Lord,  where  have  the  kiddies  got  to?"  cried 
Lars  Peter  to  distract  her  thoughts.  He  was  afraid 
she  was  going  to  begin  to  thank  him. 

"They  are  down  in  the  back  garden  with  ours," 
said  Mrs.  Vang.  "You  should  just  see  what  they  can 
do  together!  Povl  and  Rasmus  are  teaching  ours  to 
dig  holes.  It  is  a  pity  that  Kristian  couldn't  come 
too!" 

"What,  do  you  know  about  Kristian  too?  No — 
he's  out  in  service  properly  now.  But  it  could  very 
well  happen  that  he  came  running  in  one  day  all  the 
same.     He  has  a  liking  for  a  life  on  the  road." 

"He  hasn't  exactly  caught  it  from  strangers!"  an- 
swered Mrs.  Vang,  laughing. 

"No,"  said  Lars  Peter,  scratching  his  head,  "no, 


342         DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

that's  possible  enough !"  And  then  it  came  out  that 
they  had  not  left  home  that  day,  but  were  out  on  a 
tour  of  several  days,  and  had  food  with  them  in  the 
cart,  and  a  self-cooker.  They  halted  at  the  edge  of  a 
wood,  and  cooked  dinner.  Last  night  they  had  slept 
at  a  crofter's  place  in  Noddebo. 

"That  must  be  glorious!"  said  the  lady.  "How  I 
should  like  to  go  on  such  a  trip  with  you  1"  Her  eyes 
glistened. 

"Oh,  we  can  easily  arrange  that.  You  have  only 
to  go  straight  on  along  the  road.  But  of  course  you 
must  have  a  natural  talent  for  it,  and  take  things  as 
you  find  them." 

"We  can!  Beth  my  husband  and  I!  We  are 
obliged  to  do  that — in  our  present  position,"  she 
added,  smiling. 

"Yes,  I  wondered  to  see  that  you  were  such  a  grand 
woman!"  said  Lars  Peter,  "but  now  1  can  hear  it  bet- 
ter still,  it  is  always  those  who  have  too  little  for 
their  own,  Vv^ho  have  their  hearts  in  the  right  place. 
But  where  is  the  cart?"     He  sprang  up  quite  startled. 

Mrs.  Vang  laughed.  "My  husband  and  Frederick 
have  driven  It  over  to  the  inn.  We  think  it  better  for 
you  to  stay  here  to-night  than  to  go  oli  looking  for 
lodgings  in  the  town.  We  can  put  you  up  very  well, 
if  only  you  will  take  us  as  we  are." 

Of  course  they  could !  Lars  Peter  for  his  part 
could  very  well  hang  on  from  a  hatpeg  and  sleep  any- 
how; he  ihanked  God  he  could  always  sleep  like  a' 
top.  "But  there's  no  sense  in  putting  you  all  out  like 
this." 


GOOD  DAYS  343 

Then  Ditte  and  Else  came  in  with  a  big  basket  of 
things  between  them,  and  Vang  came  along  the  road. 
Lars  Peter  went  out  to  meet  him  over  the  fields,  he 
wanted  to  look  round  about  him  a  little.  Sine  pre- 
ferred to  stay  at  home  with  the  women.  "I  am  won- 
dering why  the  dickens  it  is  that  the  land  on  this  side 
of  the  road  is  so  well  farmed,  and  so  bad  on  the  other," 
said  he  to  Vang  as  they  met. 

"That's  because  there  has  been  a  lot  of  speculating 
over  the  one  on  this  side,"  answered  Vang.  "If  any 
lawyer  just  glances  at  a  field,  it  looks  as  if  the  devil 
himself  had  breathed  on  it,  and  nothing  will  grow 
there  any  more." 

They  walked  over  the  fields  together.  Lars  Peter 
had  thought  that  Vang  was  a  strange  reserved  fellow, 
not  nearly  so  lively  and  talkative  as  his  wife,  and  fan« 
cied  that  perhaps  he  felt  himself  to  be  above  them. 
But  it  was  rather  that  he  let  the  others  chatter  on,  while 
he  was  taking  notes  of  it  all,  for  when  he  was  alone 
with  one  he  was  talkative  enough,  and  there  was  sense 
in  all  he  said.  He  seemed  to  have  a  knowledge  of 
conditions  in  all  classes,  and  did  not  spare  any  of 
them  much — which  sentiment  Lars  Peter  fuliy 
agreed  with.  He  had  not  much  respect  for  the  great. 
"It  is  we  who  do  their  thinking  for  them,"  he  said, 
right  out. 

Lars  Peter  was  quite  sure  that  he  and  his  worked  for 
the  great;  it  was  a  conception  that  was  slowly  coming 
to  birth  in  his  mind;  but  this  was  something  quite  new 
to  him. 

"Yes,  when  you  supply  the  head,  and  we  others  bring 


344         DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

the  hands,  there  is  nothing  much  that  they  provide 
themselves,"  said  he,  laughing. 

"Yes,  there  remains  the  stomach"  replied  Vang 
gravely.  It  was  strange  to  hear  such  a  distinguished 
man  utter  such  a  word;  but  it  was  true  that  in  still  deep 
waters  grew  the  strangest  plants. 

Up  on  the  balcony  of  the  villa  they  could  see  people 
waving  and  calling  to  them.  They  must  go  back  for 
dinner. 

A  festive  table  was  spread  In  the  dining-room,  a 
long  table  with  flowers  and  wine.  Vang  drew  an  old 
high-backed  oaken  chair  with  twisted  legs  to  the  end 
of  the  table — his  own  place.  "You  are  to  sit  here, 
Lars  Peter,"  said  he,  looking  at  him  with  filial  admira- 
tion. 

It  was  quite  a  high  seat  of  honor.  Lars  Peter  was 
quite  overcome  when  he  sat  down.  "No  one  has  ever 
made  such  a  fuss  over  me  before,"  said  he  quietly. 

It  was  a  regular  feast.  The  children  were  all  jum- 
bled up  together;  they  were  in  riotous  spirits,  and 
gabbled  and  laughed  at  one  another.  But  Vang  liked 
it  so.     "Mealtimes  are  the  children's  hours!"  he  said. 

Lars  Peter  noticed  that  Vang  ate  his  dinner  with 
the  youngest  child  on  his  knee.  "Yes,  the  food  tastes 
better  to  me  when  I  have  him,"  said  Vang. 

"Why,  it's  just  the  same  with  you,  Father!"  said 
Ditte,  and  looked  lovingly  from  one  to  the  other;  roses 
blossomed  in  her  cheeks  for  sheer  gladness. 

"Yes,  it's  the  same  with  me !"  answered  Lars  Peter, 
looking  quite  envious.  "I  should  rather  think  so! 
But  now  there's  no  one  at  home  to  sit  on  my  knee  any 


GOOD  DAYS  345 

more.  The  youngsters  say  they  are  too  big.  But 
Mother  has  promised  me  one  at  Christmas — if  I  will 
give  up  chewing!" 

Sine  grew  redder  and  redder. 

"Good  gracious,  we  are  thirteen  at  table !"  she  ex- 
claimed, with  comic  fright.  Every  one  laughed,  both 
grown-ups  and  children;  it  came  so  suddenly. 

"Yes,  Mother  is  superstitious,"  said  Lars  Peter. 
"That,  thank  God,  1  have  never  been." 

"That's  the  mark  of  the  race."  Vang  lifted  his 
glass  and  nodded  to  him.  "You  have  never  been 
afraid  of  the  Dark  Powers,  and  therefore  you  have 
always  been  persecuted.  A  toast  to  those  who  are 
not  superstitious — to  the  believers !  We  will  have 
faith  in  our  fellows, — not  in  ghosts  and  devils."  Mrs. 
Vang  also  took  up  her  glass. 

"It  is  because  you  live  in  the  future  that  you  are  so 
crazy  over  children !"  she  said  to  her  husband.  "And 
therefore  we  will  drink  good  luck  to  Sine." 

"This  evening  we'll  go  to  Tivoli,"  said  Vang. 
"All  we  .2:rown-ups." 

"Ah !"  said  Frederick  cheekily,  "then  I  shall  go  with 
you !" 

Mrs.  Vang  laughed:  it  seemed  as  if  she  was  tickled 
the  whole  time,  for  all  day  she  had  laughed  at  noth- 
ing at  all.  "We  must  see  about  getting  some  one  to 
look  after  the  children,"  she  said,  reflecting. 

"T  will  see  after  them,"  said  Else.  "I  am  really  too 
tired  to  go  In  with  you." 

"You,  child!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Vang,  astonished. 

"She  has  looked  after  the  home   for  a  couple  of 


346        DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

years,  quite  alone  I"  Lars  Peter  informed  them, 
proudly. 

"Now  listen  to  my  plan,"  said  the  lady.  "This 
evening  we  grown-ups  will  go  to  Tivoli.  To-morrow 
Ditte  and  her  parents  and  all  the  children — ours  as 
well — shall  go  to  the  Zoo,  and  see  the  town  a  little. 
Then  you  must  come  back  here  and  have  a  late  din- 
ner, sleep  the  night  here,  and  wait  to  drive  home  till 
the  day  after  to-morrow.  So  you  have  a  long  day 
before  you!" 

*T11  be  hanged  if  1  don't  go  to  the  Zoo  with 
them !"  said  Vang.  "The  very  idea !"  He  looked 
quite  Injured. 

"Then  I  won't  be  done  out  of  it  either,"  declared 
Mrs.  Vang.  "But  it  will  be  a  very  late  dinner;  you 
will  have  to  put  up  with  that  I" 


CHAPTER  XXXI 
DITTE  PLUCKS  ROSES 

IT  was  really  and  truly  summer  at  last.  The  heat 
was  so  great  that  you  could  see  It  moving  in  waves. 
They  lay  low  along  the  ground,  and  shimmered  be- 
fore one's  eyes.  Only  the  children  seemed  unaffected 
by  the  warmth.  They  lay  in  groups  on  the  lawn, 
munching  gooseberries  and  currants,  and  chattering. 
It  was  so  funny  how  they  came  one  on  the  heels  of 
the  other — little  steps  and  stairs — with  just  one  year 
between  each. 

Frederick  had  cycled  to  the  Sound  to  bathe. 
Mrs.  Vang  and  Ditte  sat  on  the  veranda  under 
Vang's  study  sewing.  They  could  hear  Vang  walk- 
ing about  upstairs:  he  came  out  and  knocked  his  pipe 
out  on  the  balustrade  of  the  balcony,  and  went  in 
again.  The  two  women  sat  silent,  they  were  listen- 
ing to  his  movements.  He  could  go  on  like  that  the 
whole  day,  fiddling  with  first  one  thing,  then  another, 
and  even  talking  to  them,  and  yet  be  attending  to  his 
work  all  the  time!  It  seemed  to  evolve  within  him, 
untouched  by  his  surroundings;  but  they  could  see  by 
his  eyes  that  he  was  Vv'orklng:  they  resembled  those 
of  a  sleep-walker.  In  this  state  his  Interest  could  not 
be  aroused  by  anything.  Mrs.  Vang  laughingly  called 
It  "hamram." 

They  were  making  a  summer  dress  for  Ditte  of 

347 


348         DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

flowered  muslin,  which  the  lady  had  picked  up  at  a  sale 
for  a  bargain.  They  wore  low  shoes  and  bare  legs  on 
account  of  the  heat.  "In  this  way  we  shall  save  our 
stockings,"  said  Mrs.  Vang.     It  was  her  idea. 

'*The  tradespeople!"  Ditte  was  not  altogether 
comfortable  about  it. 

"Fine  lady!"  said  Mrs.  Vang  teasingly.  "What 
do  we  care  about  them!  Besides  they  will  think  we 
have  flesh-colored  stockings  on.  It  is  elegant  nowa- 
days to  look  as  if  we  had  bare  legs!" 

Vang  came  out  on  the  balcony,  and  knocked  out  his 
briar  again. 

"Please,  not  on  our  work!"  called  his  wife  up  to 
him. 

"Oh !  I  beg  pardon."  He  bent  far  over  the  balus- 
trade to  see  them,  and  then  came  down.  "Here  you 
sit  like  two  sisters,"  said  he.  "Two  good  and  beau- 
tiful sisters!  But  neither  of  you  is  thinking  of  this 
tall  man.  Is  there  to  be  no  tea  to-day?  It  is  so 
hot!" 

Ditte  threw  down  her  sewing  and  sprang  up. 

"I  must  be  getting  dotty,"  cried  she,  and  ran  off  to 
the  kitchen. 

"Or  else  you  are  in  love,"  cried  Mrs.  Vang  after 
her,  archly. 

"What  a  child! — But  how  prettilv  she  goes  dream- 
ing about.  One  could  almost  fall  head  over  ears  in 
love   with  her!" 

"I  should,  if  I  were  a  man!"  declared  Mrs.  Vang 
gravely. 


DITTE  PLUCKS  ROSES  349 

Ditte  called  from  the  kitchen  door:  "Children,  chil- 
dren, tea  or  gooseberry  fool?" 

"Gooseberry  fool!"  they  answered.  "But  it  must 
have  the  skins  in  it." 

"Then  run  to  the  summer  house,"  her  voice  rang 
full  and  clear  in  the  open  air.  Then  she  came  in  with 
the  tea. 

"How  do  you  like  our  new  stockings?"  The  lady 
stretched  out  one  leg.  "You  might  have  noticed  them 
yourself.     See,  they  are  silk." 

"They  are  pretty  enough!"  said  Vang,  "but  deucedly 
dear  in  the  long  run."  The  two  women  burst  out 
laughing. 

"You  numskull!  And  yet  people  credit  poets 
with—" 

Vang  bent  her  head  backwards  and  looked  down 
into  her  face.  "What  do  they  accuse  poets  of,  and 
what  has  that  to  do  with  me?"  asked  he. 

"Perhaps  you  are  no  poet  then !" 

"I  am  a  live  human  being — just  that.  But  it's 
enough.     All  really  live  human  beings  are  poets  too." 

"I'm  lively  enough — ^but  a  poet!" 

"You  are  a  chatterbox — and  talk  frightful  non- 
sense." He  kissed  both  her  eyes.  Then  he  went 
away. 

"He  can't  bear  to  be  called  a  poet,"  said  Mrs.  Vang 
disconsolately.  "He  hates  Art  and  artists,  as  per- 
haps you  have  noticed.  He  calls  them  hair-dressers. 
He  tries  to  speak  the  unvarnished  truth.  W^ould  you 
believe  that  could  be  so  difficult?     But  he.  says  we  are 


350        DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

all  of  us  entangled  in  shams:  we  must  go  and  learn, 
from  the  peasantry." 

''From  us!"  exclaimed  Ditte,  horrified.  "But  we 
know  nothing  at  all  about  poetry." 

^'Perhaps  that  is  just  the  reason.  I  don't  know 
exactly.  Vang  is  so  quiet  about  everything:  one  would 
never  think  he  was  an  agitator,  would  you?  But  they 
are  keeping  an  eye  on  him,  believe  me.  They  would 
like  to  catch  him  out,  if  only  they  could.  At  present 
he  is  keeping  silent  as  much  as  he  can — but  one  day 
— when  an  opportunity  comes!  Then  they  will  take 
him  from  me,  Ditte !" 

"What,  only  because  he  stands  up  for  the  poor?" 
Ditte  could  not  understand  it:  she  gazed  uncompre- 
hendingly  in  front  of  her. 

Mrs.  Vang  nodded.  "That  is  the  Future !  Either 
they  will  throw  their  rags  off  themselves,  or  else  the 
rich  will  have  to  wear  the  same.  And  if  anything 
happens,  he  will  join  them— that  I  am  sure  of.  Oh, 
Ditte!  there  is  nothing  in  the  world  I  could  not  give 
up  for  him!"  She  bowed  her  head  and  buried  her 
face  In  her  arms. 

"What  pretty  arms  she  has!"  thought  Ditte,  "and 
how  pretty  and  good  she  is!"  She  stood  over  her, 
tenderly  stroking  the  thick  black  hair,  longing  to  com- 
fort the  grief  which  she  could  not  understand.  Then 
one  of  the  children  came  running  up  to  show  some- 
thing, and  Mrs.  Vang  smiled  and  was  herself  again. 

Every  minute  one  or  other  of  them  came  up.  The 
little  girl  caught  lady-birds,  held  them  out  on  her 
finger-tip  and  sang  to  them,  till  they  suddenly  split  like 


DITTE  PLUCKS  ROSES  351 

a  dried  bean,  unfolded  hidden  wings  and  flew  away. 
The  baby  toddled  up  with  a  fat  pink  rainwater  worm, 
which  wriggled  in  his  chubby,  grimy  fist.  "Tastes 
good !"  said  he.  But  he  was  careful  enough  not  to  put 
it  in  his  mouth.  He  was  only  trying  it  on  to  see  if  he 
could  get  his  mother  or  Ditte  to  cry  out  in  horror. 
"You  rogue,  will  you  be  off  with  you,  and  not  tease 
us!"  said  Mrs.  Vang  threateningly.  Ditte  sat  and 
heard  nothing.  She  had  fallen  into  a  reverie.  She 
sat  and  thought  about  the  poverty  of  her  own  child- 
hood— how  they  had  suffered  and  striven  without  get- 
ting much  more  forward.  It  had  seemed  as  if  a 
gnome  came  in  the  night  and  devoured  all  that  they 
had  gathered  together  during  the  day.  That  there 
should  be  any  one  willing  to  stand  forth  and  speak 
the  truth — they  could  not  do  it  for  themselves. 
Prison!  She  shuddered;  filled  with  horror,  and  yet 
with  an  unforgetable  admiration. 

"Shall  we  go  indoors  and  try  it  on?"  she  heard  the 
lady  say. 

They  went  into  the  room  where  she  and  the  chil- 
dren slept,  and  stood  In  front  of  the  glass.  DItte 
slipped  off  her  dress,  her  white  arms  gleamed  in  the 
afternoon  sunlight;  her  cheeks  glowed.  In  her  eyes  lin- 
gered traces  of  what  she  had  heard.  Ditte  stood  with 
her  arms  stretched  out  on  either  side  while  Mrs.  Vang 
tacked  something. 

"You  are  for  all  the  world  like  a  fairy  princess 
being  dressed  for  the  fairy  tale,"  said  Mrs.  Vang,  and 
turned  her  round  like  a  top.  "It  hangs  well,  but  you 
have  a  good  figure  for  showing  clothes  off.     Now  run. 


352        DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

upstairs  and  let  my  husband  see  you.  You  must  see 
Ditte.     She  looks  so  nice !"  she  called  up  the  stairs. 

Vang  had  the  door  open  for  coolness.  Ditte  came 
in,  glowing  red  with  joy  and  bashfulness. 

"Aha!  How  pretty  and  smart  you  look!"  said  he, 
looking  admiringly  at  her  youthful  figure.  "You  must 
be  lifted  up !"  He  took  her  round  the  waist  with  both 
hands  and  lifted  her  up  to  the  ceiling.  "Now  you 
must  give  us  chocolate !"  he  said  merrily. 

Ditte  gazed  down  into  his  face,  intoxicated  with  his 
strength  and  it  all.  His  glasses  shone,  and  behind 
them,  as  behind  window  panes,  deep  in  his  eyes,  Ditte 
herself  beheld  the  loneliness  of  prison.  She  slipped 
down  into  his  arms,  pressed  her  mouth  against  his 
with  closed  eyes,  and  ran  downstairs. 

Ditte  never  knew  if  it  were  she  who  kissed  Van^, 
or  he  who  kissed  her;  but  she  knew  all  the  more  clearly 
that  she  did  not  wish  it  undone.  She  desired  nothing 
in  the  world  changed — everything  around  seemed 
steeped  in  the  same  warmth  and  sweetness,  the  gleam- 
ing love  of  everything.  Day  was  a  miracle,  an  intoxi- 
cation and  a  dream,  and  night  was  no  less.  She  ooened 
her  eyes  In  the  happy  certainty  of  a  day  filled  with 
gladness,  and  shut  them  In  the  evening  with  her  soul 
filled  to  overflowing  with  wondrous  rich  expectation. 
She  embraced  everything,  and  everything  embraced  her 
in  return. 

Ditte  had  had  a  child,  but  had  never  given  herself 
to  any  man.  Her  mother-instinct  and  self-forgetful- 
ness  had  often  enough  been  In  demand,  but  never  her 


DITTE  PLUCKS  ROSES  353 

passion;  that  had  been  allowed  to  slumber.  Now  the 
strong  man  had  come  and  awakened  it,  sought  for  her 
heart,  not  to  give  her  more  burdens  to  bear,  but  to 
wake  her  to  beautiful  idle  play.  Her  soul  had  long 
been  softly  humming  to  itself,  now  her  blood  too  began 
to  sing.  She  felt  as  if  there  were  throngs  of  beings 
singing  within  her — one  endless,  festal,  bridal 
train,  and  her  heart  frolicked  about  in  sym- 
pathy. It  was  like  a  bewildered  bird:  she  had  often 
to  press  her  hand  over  her  breast  before  she  could  fall 
asleep. 

She  gave  herself  to  Love's  passionate  might  without 
scruple  or  reserve.  There  was  no  room  for  calcula- 
tion in  her  feelings — she  loved  Vang,  and  he  loved  her 
in  return — she  cared  for  naught  else.  She  became 
fonder  than  ever  of  the  children,  and  nourished 
a  boundless  affection  for  Mrs.  Vang.  Sometimes 
the  thought  would  cross  her  mind:  did  Mrs.  Vang  sus- 
pect anything?  It  would  happen  that  Mrs.  Vang 
would  stroke  her  cheek  with  a  glance  as  if  to  say:  I 
know  more  than  you  think,  when  Ditte  came  home  late 
in  the  evening,  and  Vang  had  fetched  her  from  the 
last  tram.  And  one  day  Ditte  came  in  with  a  big 
nosegay  of  field  flowers  for  Vang's  room.  Then  Mrs. 
Vang  laid  her  hands  around  his  neck  and  said :  "It's 
all  right  for  you,  having  two  people  to  make  things 
comfortable  for  you !" 

Mrs.  Vang's  warm  hands  were  always  patting  and 
stroking  those  she  loved,  when  she  talked  to  them, 
emphasizing  or  mollifying  her  words.  The  problem 
crossed  Ditte's  mind  and  passed  away  again:  Mrs. 


354        DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

Vang  had  never  been  kinder  or  more  affectionate — 
they  were  on  the  most  sisterly  terms.  Ditte  was  not 
jealous  of  Mrs.  Vang. 

Ditte  was  only  afraid  that  Vang  might  change  In 
his  relations  with  his  wife;  but  he  remained  exactly 
the  same  good  and  quiet  husband.  He  was  quiet,  al- 
most gentler  than  before;  but  a  comforting  strength 
radiated  from  his  whole  being  that  impressed  them  all. 
It  was  difficult  to  understand  how  he  could  be  so  con- 
tentious with  regard  to  the  world.  Here  at  home  there 
was  never  a  dissonance. 

This  was  a  time  full  of  happiness  for  Ditte,  at  first 
careless  happiness,  but  after  one  morning  seeing  her 
mistress's  tear-stained  eyes — a  despairing  happiness. 
Perhaps  it  was  only  something  in  her  own  inner  con- 
sciousness that  had  suggested  the  notion,  her  evil  con- 
science which  still  half  slumbered.  At  any  rate  it  made 
her  stop  and  think.  But  she  went  on  just  the  same, 
though  the  happiness  was  not  quite  the  same.  It  had 
lost  something  of  its  first  freshness  by  being  caught 
and  examined;  it  left  a  bitter  taste — the  bitter-sweet  of 
sin.  She  could  be  the  most  light-hearted  creature  on 
earth,  and  then  suddenly  clouds  and  shadows  would 
come,  who  knows  from  where,  and  fill  all  life  with  pain 
and  guilty  sweetness.  By  turns  she  wept  or  rejoiced; 
was  ashamed  or  felt  pride — pride  in  being  loved  by  a 
man  who  was  so  big  and  clever  and  who  had  so  sweet 
a  wife. 

When  she  did  not  reflect,  she  went  about  in  a  blissful 
state,  half  dreaming,  as  if  seeing  the  world  through 
half-closed  eyes.    But,  when  she  was  forced  to  consider 


DITTE  PLUCKS  ROSES  355 

whither  she  was  v/ending,  she  shuddered  and  grew  cold 
with  horror.  There  was  always  something  new  which 
she  had  not  considered  before  that  raised  its  head. 
She  was  nourishing  not  alone  love,  but  a  guilty  love ! 
Not  because  she  had  freely  given  herself  without  the 
bond  of  wedlock;  but  because  it  was  to  a  married  man. 
Nothing  was  so  shameful  for  a  young  girl  as  to  have  a 
connection  with  a  married  man,  and  this  was  just  what 
she  was  doing.  If  they  got  to  know  it  at  home  she 
could  never  show  her  face  in  the  parish  again;  they 
would  forgive  her  for  the  baby;  but  not  for  that.  Lars 
Peter  would  not  be  able  to  go  on  living  there,  and  the 
children,  poor  things,  would  have  mud  enough  thrown 
at  them. 

Ditte  kept  these  sufferings  to  herself — it  was  only 
her  happiness  that  she  shared  with  others.  They  grew 
none  the  lighter  for  that;  but  on  the  contrary  had  op- 
portunity to  grow  and  multiply  in  her  loneliness.  If 
the  mistress  was  to  discover  anything — she  who  was  so 
good  and  kind !  If  only  she  had  been  hard  and  unkind  ! 
Then  it  would  not  have  been  nearly  so  hard ! 
Sometimes  Ditte  dared  hardly  face  her,  and  if  she  had 
dared,  could  not;  no  word  sounded  so  bad  as  the  word 
"deceit."  She  often  fancied  Mrs.  Vang  suspected 
something;  she  thought  she  could  see  it  in  her  face, 
hear  it  in  the  tone  of  her  voice.  It  was  a  terrible  situa- 
tion, and  yet  she  was  happy,  lived  her  days  in  intoxica- 
tion, a  mist  of  warmth  and  dreams,  and  longings  for 
the  darkness. 

"It  must  be  strange,  only  to  be  able  to  make  love  in 
the  dark!"  said  Mrs.  Vang  one  day,  as  they  stood 


356        DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

ironing,  and  she  gazed  dreamily  far  away.  Dltte  was 
glad  that  she  had  the  dark.  She  could  not  go  away — ■ 
It  never  as  much  as  occurred  to  her. 

One  day  they  were  cooking  the  dinner.  Ditte  stood 
at  the  sink  under  the  window  cleaning  fish.  Outside  it 
rained  and  blew:  the  cold  weather  had  come.  Vang 
was  walking  up  and  down  In  his  study:  he  worked  in 
that  way.  It  was  curious  how  everything  transformed 
itself  into  work  with  him;  he  had  never  worked  as  he 
had  this  summer.  "He  had  worked  for  two,"  as  his 
wife  Innocently  expressed  It,  with  a  smile  and  a  faint 
emphasis  on  the  word  ''two,"  that  made  Ditte  pause 
and  think  a  moment. 

"Now  the  summer  is  over,"  said  Mrs.  Vang  from 
the  kitchen  table,  "a  wonderful  summer." 

Ditte  tried  to  answer;  but  the  words  stuck  in  her 
throat.  Her  eyes  burnt.  She  dared  not  turn  round, 
but  bent  busily  over  the  sink :  she  felt  certain  that  now 
the  bolt  would  fall. 

Mrs.  Vang  came  up,  put  something  down  on  the 
kitchen  table  and  took  up  something  else,  but  remained 
there.  Ditte  kept  her  face  turned  away,  and  bent  over 
her  work,  so  that  Mrs.  Vang  should  not  see  that  she 
was  crying. 

She  felt  an  arm  laid  kindly  on  her  shoulder. 
"Ditte !"  said  Mrs.  Vang  slowly. 

"Yes."  Ditte  dried  her  wet  eyes  with  her  bare 
arm,  but  did  not  look  up. 

"We  cannot  go  on  any  longer.  No,  Ditte  not  one 
of  us  can  hold  out  any  longer.    I  cannot  either !" 


BITTE  PLUCKS  ROSES  357 

Ditte  turned  her  wet  face  up  with  a  helpless 
expression. 

"No,  I  am  not  angry,  Ditte  1"  said  Mrs.  Vang,  and 
she  laughed;  but  it  was  a  laughter  without  mirth. 
"What  should  I  be  angry  at?  But  here — in  this  house 
— we  cannot  be  two.  I  cannot,  and  you  cannot."  She 
leaned  her  forehead  on  Ditte's  shoulder. 

"I  wanted  to  give  you  notice — long  ago,"  said  Ditte 
weeping,  "but — I  am  so  sorry  about  it!" 

"That  is  nothing — that!"  said  Mrs.  Vang  com- 
fortingly, "what  one  has  cannot  be  taken  away  after 
all.  Only  it  is  so  strange.  You  and  me !  Upstairs, 
downstairs!  So — so — complicated!"  She  laughed 
again,  this  time  with  her  old  clear  laughter:  "And 
how  you  have  had  to  hush  it  all  up,  you  poor  girl !" 
She  took  Ditte's  head,  and  kissed  her.  "Now  we  must 
show  happy  faces  at  dinner,"  said  she.  "We  will  have 
no  scenes,  you  and  I !" 

Ditte  wanted  to  rush  away  at  once,  just  as  she  stood. 

"But  your  clothes,   child!"   Mrs.   Vang  stood  still, 

irresolute.    Then    she    fetched    Ditte's    coat   and    hat. 

"Then  go  at  once  If  you  would  rather,"  she  said.    "But 

you  must  say  'Good-bye'  properly  to  Vang  first." 

"No,  No!"  Ditte  defended  herself  with  her  hands. 
She  was  near  a  collapse. 

"You  can  go  to  the  little  High  School  Home,"  said 
Mrs.  Vang,  and  buttoned  her  coat.  "I  will  pack  your 
things  and  bring  them  over  in  the  afternoon.  And  re- 
member that  we  are  always  friends,  always !"  Mrs. 
Vang  followed  her  out.  "Stay!"  she  cried  and  plucked 
a  big,  red  rose,    "This  is  for  you — the  last  in  the  gar- 


358         DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

den !"    She  stood  by  the  high  kitchen  stairs  and  waved 
her  white  apron. 

But  Ditte  did  not  look  back.  She  went  weeping 
down  towards  the  town  again.  She  had  to  run  the  last 
bit  to  the  tram,  and  when  she  was  standing  on  the  back 
platform  and  the  tram  was  already  in  motion,  she  dis- 
covered that  she  had  dropped  the  rose. 


CHAPTER  XXXII 
THE  DOG 

THE  master  came  into  the  dining-room  which 
Ditte  was  just  cleaning,  he  was  still  only 
half-dressed. 

"Has  Scott  done  his  little  business?"  he  asked 
excitedly. 

"I  don't  know,"  answered  Ditte  shortly. 

"Hasn't  he  asked  to  be  let  out  into  the  yard?" 

"No!" 

The  old  Master  of  Hounds  tripped  into  the  bedroom 
again.  There  was  still  something  of  the  discipline  of 
old  days  to  be  marked  in  his  walk  and  bearing.  "That 
is  really  remarkable !"  Ditte  heard  him  say,  "I  have 
been  downstairs  twice  in  the  night  with  him.  There 
must  be  something  wrong  with  him."  The  lady  made 
no  reply. 

Then  he  returned,  in  a  green  smoking  jacket.  He 
took  a  decanter  of  port  from  the  sideboard.  Ditte 
fetched  a  raw  egg.  "Now  Scott  shall  have  his  morn- 
ing pick-me-up,"  said  he,  and  dropped  the  yolk  into  a 
glass  of  port.  The  dog  was  dragged  from  under  the 
dining-room  table,  where  it  lay  on  a  fur  rug  every 
night.  It  looked  as  if  it  longed  to  bite  them.  Ditte 
had  to  force  his  jaws  open,  while  the  master  poured 
the  tonic  down.  The  animal  immediately  threw  it 
up  again. 

359 


36o        DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

"I  think  he  must  have  gastric  catarrh!"  he  said,  "his 
breath  smells.  Amelia,  he  has  certainly  gastric  ca- 
tarrh !"  he  cried  through  the  open  bedroom  door. 

"Is  it  anything  but  the  sour  smell  of  his  hair?  That 
always  smells  with  long-haired  dogs,"  said  Ditte. 

The  old  sportsman  gave  her  an  annihilating  glance. 
Then  quite  offended  he  tripped  into  the  bedroom  again. 
*'He  must  be  dieted,"  she  heard  him  say.  "You  must 
get  hold  of  a  cookery  book  for  dogs,  Amelia.  But 
don't  leave  it  to  the  servant  again :  the  proletariat  has 
no  feeling  for  animals!"  Ditte  smiled  bitterly.  No, 
she  had  not  much  left  over  for  Scott  anyhow. 

In  the  afternoons  the  old  gentleman  went  out  for  a 
walk  with  the  dog  when  his  gout  permitted  it.  But  as  it 
often  did  not,  Ditte  had  to  take  him  out  on  the  boule- 
vard. The  half-hour  fixed  for  the  walk  seemed  end- 
less. Scott  was  tiresome;  he  tugged  at  his  lead,  and 
barked,  and  pulled  her  from  one  object  to  another. 
"Just  follow  him,"  said  the  Master  of  Hounds,  who 
went  with  her  the  first  time  to  show  her  how  dogs  ought 
to  be  exercised.  "He  must  do  as  he  likes.  You  have 
only  to  hold  tight,  so  that  he  doesn't  get  away 
from  you." 

There  was  nothing  too  loathsome  for  Scott  to  have 
his  nose  in  and  give  it  his  approval,  and  Ditte  felt 
much  embarrassed.  She  was  glad  when  the  days  grew 
shorter  and  darkness  partially  hid  the  dog  and 
herself. 

When  she  came  home  with  it,  the  old  gentleman's 
first  question  was  "Has  he  done  his  business?"  If 
not,   he  was  beside   himself.     "It  is   catarrh   of  the 


THE  DOG  361 

colon,"  he  cried.  "Poor  Scott,  you  are  crock- 
ing up,  eh?" 

The  mistress  smiled  ironically. 

"There's  not  much  the  matter  with  him,"  said  she. 
"In  the  morning  he  rushed  out  and  bit  a  man,  who  was 
here  with  a  parcel,  in  the  leg.  I  had  to  give  him  five 
crowns  in  compensation.  Scott  tore  a  hole  in  his 
trousers." 

"Then  he  was  a  suspicious  character,  you  will  see! 
He  had  something  or  other  on  his  conscience!  Scott 
doesn't  attack  honest  folk,  eh,  Scottie  man?  Five 
crowns !  Why  the  devil  didn't  you  send  for  a  police- 
man, and  then  he  might  have  confessed  at  once!" 

The  mistress  could  never  be  induced  to  give  a  hand, 
when  the  dog  had  to  have  an  injection,  castor  oil  or 
tonics.  She  simply  said:  "Thanks,  not  for  me!"  and 
went  her  way.  So  Ditte  had  to  do  it,  whether  she  liked 
it  or  not.    It  was  not  amusing,  but  it  was  an  easy  place. 

"If  only  it  would  run  away,  or  something  would 
happen  to  it!"  said  the  lady  to  Ditte  when  they  were 
alone.  "Can't  you  let  something  happen  to  it?  I 
should  not  be  sorry!" 

"Why  don't  you  adopt  a  little  child.  Ma'am?" 
asked  Ditte. 

"The  master  can't  bear  children.  And  truly,  it  is  a 
risky  thing  to  take  a  child.  There  is  bound  to  be  so 
much  that  is  bad  in  it,  even  if  one  adopts  it  when  quite 
small.  But  all  the  same  you  can  well  let  Scott  run 
away — as  far  as  I  am  concerned.  I  shan't  snap  your 
head  off!" 

It  happened  sometimes  that  the  dog  wrenched  him- 


362        DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

self  loose  from  Ditte  and  disappeared.  She  had  to 
walk  up  and  down  and  wait,  till,  often  after  hours  of 
waiting,  he  turned  his  nose  homewards.  She  dared 
not  go  home  without  the  dog. 

One  evening  she  was  walking  down  the  boulevard 
calling  him,  half  aloud  and  very  shyly.  A  young 
artisan  came  out  of  one  of  the  side  streets.  "Is  it  a 
Scotch  sheepdog?"  he  asked. 

"Yes!"  said  Ditte,  flurried. 

"He  is  running  about  in  the  side  street.  I  will  catch 
him  for  you,  Miss,"  he  answered. 

"Take  care!  He  bites  strangers!"  she  called  anx- 
iously; but  he  had  disappeared  into  the  side  street. 
She  could  hear  him  whistling  and  calling  there.  Shortly 
after  he  came  back  with  Scott  on  the  lead;  he  was 
springing  about  him  and  wagging  his  tail. 

"Now  see  that.  Miss !  He  won't  touch  me !  Noth- 
ing ever  bites  me !"  He  had  his  hat  in  his  hand,  and 
laughed  merrily.  Ditte  laughed  too — from  gratitude 
and  because  he  was  so  handsome. 

"No,  it  seems  not!"  said  she. 

He  walked  with  her  to  the  door.  "Which  is  your 
evening  out?"  he  asked  and  gave  her  his  hand. 

"Thursday,"  answered  Ditte,  and  ran  in.  "Seven 
o'clock!"  came  breathlessly  from  the  top  of  the 
stairs. 


Ditte  looked  forward  to  Tl^rsday.  She  was  lonely, 
and  felt  the  need  of  a  little  gaiety,  and  of  being  taken 
out  and  amused  by  a  young  man, — only  just  a  little. 


THE  DOG  363 

She  sang  when  washing  up,  so  that  her  mistress  had  to 
come  out  and  speak  to  her,  and  as  soon  as  she  had 
cleared  away,  she  went  up  and  made  herself  smart. 
She  was  rather  saving  with  her  clothes;  but  this  evening 
she  put  on  the  best  she  had, — she  wanted  to  look  nice. 
And  suddenly  it  occurred  to  her  that  he  might  not  be 
there  after  all.  He  had  possibly  found  some  one  else 
to  walk  with  in  the  meantime — that  would  be  just  like 
an  artisan's  apprentice !  And  would  she  really  know 
him  again:  she  had  so  short  a  time  to  see  him 
properly? 

He  stood  at  the  gate  down  in  the  street  waiting; 
took  his  hat  off  first,  and  then  took  her  hand.  "Thank 
you  for  coming!"  said  he,  and  then  suddenly  put  his 
arms  round  her  and  kissed  her.  "My  name  Is  George 
Hansen,  painter's  apprentice,"  said  he.  "And  what 
are  you  called,  my  girl?" 

Ditte  laughed  and  told  him,  and  thus  they  became 
old  friends;  arm  in  arm  they  went  off  together  to  a 
dance  hall. 

Ditte  was  not  disappointed.  He  was  much  nicer 
looking  than  she  remembered  him,  slim  and  confident  in 
bearing.  His  clothes  were  not  fashionable,  but  fitted 
him  well.  He  did  not  really  look  like  a  workman:  his 
features  were  pale  and  well-cut,  and  he  was  a  little 
sunken  on  the  temples;  his  fine  black  hair  waved 
slightly,  and  his  eyes  were  unusually  clever.  He  danced 
well;  but  Ditte  would  have  liked  to  sit  and  watch  him 
dancing  with  other  girls  nearly  as  well.  He  was  a  real 
fine  gentleman  to  look  at,  there  was  no  one  who  was 
not  pleased  to  be  asked  to  dance  by  him;  one  could  see 


364        DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

where  he  was  In  the  hall  directly,  for  his  partner  smiled 
all  over  her  face. 

There  were  other  men  who  danced  better  than  he. 
When  he  was  really  eager  in  the  dance  his  collar  flew 
up  on  one  side,  and  you  could  see  the  woolen  shirt  it 
was  fastened  to.  And  his  cuffs  slipped  down  every 
minute  from  having  no  linen  shirt  on.  But  all  the  same 
he  was-  one  of  the  first  there  ! 

And  he  had  money  in  his  pockets.  Every  second 
minute  he  took  Ditte  into  the  inner  room  and  treated 
her.  There  was  really  no  sense  in  doing  it  so  often, 
but  she  was  grateful  all  the  same.  After  all  it  was  the 
first  evening  they  had  been  together;  she  would  teach 
him  to  be  more  careful  after  a  bit. 

That  was  easier  said  than  done !  George  was  a 
capable  workman  and  earned  good  money;  but  he 
worked  in  fits  and  starts,  and  as  soon  as  he  had  money 
in  his  pockets  his  desire  for  work  was  quenched.  The 
way  he  looked  after  himself  w?s  awful;  his  whole 
wardrobe  consisted  of  what  he  had  on.  Ditte  bought 
stuff  and  made  him  shirts,  and  tried  to  get  hold  of  his 
money  when  he  was  flush,  and  entice  him  into  a  clothing 
store.  But  he  turned  the  subject,  kissed  her  and  made 
hundreds  of  witty  excuses,  so  that  she  could  not  keep  to 
the  serious  matter  in  hand.  When  he  could  no  longer 
answer  her  good  reasons,  he  found  an  excuse  for 
leaving  her.  Once  she  got  as  far  as  getting  him  right 
inside  a  shop,  and  while  they  stood  and  looked  at  some 
stuffs  he  disappeared.  When  they  saw  each  other 
again  a  few  days  later  he  was  penitent.  But  the 
money  was  gone,  only  he  had  bought  her  a  bag  with  a 


THE  DOG  365 

few  crowns  in  it.  "To  make  peace!"  said  he,  and 
handed  her  the  gift  with  the  most  contrite  expression. 
So  there  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  take  him  by  the  head 
and  kiss  him — like  the  dear  helpless  child  he  was ! 

He  must  always  have  a  present  for  her,  or  else  he 
felt  things  were  not  as  they  should  be.  If  Ditte  were 
not  pleased  with  the  gift,  but  thought  he  ought  to  have 
saved  the  money,  he  was  unhappy. 

He  was  good — too  good  if  possible.  Any  one  could 
turn  him  round  their  little  finger,  and  borrow  money 
of  him  when  he  had  any.  Any  one  could  get  him  to  go 
off  on  a  spree.  He  could  not  say  "No!"  That  was 
his  weakness.  And  he  had  a  decadent  tendency  to 
spend  as  long  as  he  had  one  cent  in  his  pocket.  He 
had  no  real  craving  for  spirits;  but  they  were  included 
as  a  matter  of  course.  He  never  got  drunk,  it  really 
never  told  on  him.  But  when  he  had  been  "on  the 
bust"  a  couple  of  days,  he  became  a  ghastly  white, 
and  his  hair  stuck  to  his  temples.  Then  he  was  quite 
unlike  himself,  and  became  bad-tempered  and 
contrary. 

"Let  him  go!"  said  his  sister  to  Ditte  one  evening 
when  they  met  each  other  in  the  street.  "There's 
nothing  to  be  done  with  him;  he's  a  sot!" 

But  Ditte  could  not  think  of  doing  so.  She  liked  him 
as  he  was  in  reality — lively  and  gifted,  careless  and 
good.  The  bad  in  him  was  due  to  merely  accidental 
qualities,  which  she  could  combat.  When  she  was  out 
with  him,  everything  went  all  right.  And  then  there 
was  no  one  like  him !  No  one  could  work  as  he  could; 
all  his  fellows  agreed  that  he  was  the  most  capable 


266        DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

painter's  apprentice  in  the  town.     It  would  come  all 
right  for  them  yet. 

Without  realizing  it  or  desiring  it,  Ditte  had  again 
found  some  one  to  care  for.  She  needed  that,  and 
while  she  went  about  her  work  thinking  of  him,  she 
felt  towards  him  nearly  as  towards  an  unutterably  dear 
child.  He  could  give  occasion  for  trouble,  perhaps,  but 
what  was  more  reasonable  than  that  she  should  take 
his  pale  face  framed  in  fine  curly  hair  to  her  breast 
when  he  came  to  her  full  of  remorse  after  having  been 
on  a  spree?  It  happened  that  she  went  in  vain  to 
their  trysts  sometimes.  Then  he  had  met  another  1 
But  one  fine  day  he  turned  up  again,  so  affectionate  and 
gay,  and  natural,  as  if  he  had  done  nothing  amiss. 
He  could  not  do  without  her! 


One  Sunday  they  were  to  go  out  together.  Ditte 
was  to  fetch  him  at  his  room,  and  had  buttered  some 
sandwiches  and  bought  a  couple  of  eggs  to  give  him 
something  to  take  with  him  to  work  on  Monday.  He 
often  ate  as  he  best  could.  She  had  packed  the  whole 
in  a  neat  packet  with  a  little  wooden  holder,  and  wore 
a  new  hat  she  was  anxious  to  show  off  to  him.  But  It 
was  raining,  and  the  hat  would  not  stand  rain.  But 
he  simply  had  to  see  her  In  it. 

Downstairs  at  the  gate  she  took  It  off,  and  put  it 
under  her  long  coat.  She  held  the  coat  carefully  to- 
gether with  her  left  hand,  and  ran  down  the  street 
bare-headed.  It  poured  down,  and  she  had  to  hurry. 
The  packet  swung  to  and  fro  In  her  right  hand  which 


THE  DOG  367 

she  held  up  her  skirt  with.  The  white  underskirt 
flapped  against  her  ankles,  and  her  hair  came  down  in. 
"wisps  and  stuck  to  her  face.  The  chandler  at  the  cor- 
ner stood  at  his  street  door  and  grinned  and  called 
after  her.  Opposite  at  the  street  door  on  the  other  side, 
£tocd  George:  he  had  come  to  meet  her.  He  turned 
round  with  a  jerk,  and  went  down  the  street  as  if  he 
had  not  seen  her.  He  had  his  collar  turned  up  over  his 
ears.  Ditte  panting  caught  him  up,  and  slipped  her  arm 
through  his,  but  he  freed  himself  with  a  shake. 

"What  the  devil  are  you  looking  like  that  for?" 
he  asked. 

"It  was  raining  so  much, — and  my  new  hat !  Good- 
ness, how  I  have  hurried  to-day!"  She  looked  up  at 
him  with  glowing  eyes,  her  smile  full  of  expectancy, 
love  and  forgiveness ;  but  he  avoided  her  glance.  In 
his  staring,  shifty  eyes  she  saw  that  he  was  not  himself. 

"You've  been  on  a  spree !"  she  said  unhappily, 
"and  I've  been  so  looking  forward  to  to-day!" 

"What  do  I  care?  Go  off  home,  and  don't  make  us 
a  laughing-stock !" 

Ditte  understood  that  the  day  was  spoilt.  "Very 
well.  Good-by,  then,"  she  said,  and  gently  shook  his 
arm.  "Then  I'll  go  home  again."  She  smiled  with 
difficulty,  and  handed  him  the  packet.  "That  is  for 
your  lunch  to-morrow  morning." 

But  he  became  mad  with  rage.  "Will  you  give  me 
food  in  the  street  as  if  I  were  a  beggar?"  He  tore 
the  paper  off,  and  smacked  a  piece  of  food  in  her  face. 
Ditte  ran  away  crying  and  he  ran  after  her  and  shied 
the  whole  lot  at  her, — sausages,  cheese,  potted  meat — ■ 


368        DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

they  whizzed  by  on  both  sides  of  her.  The  soft-boiled 
eggs  hit  the  door-posts,  one  on  each  side  as  she  dashed 
in.  She  ran  straight  into  the  arms  of  her  master 
and  mistress. 

Ditte  got  notice  to  leave  on  the  first ! 

And  so  she  was  to  begin  the  whole  thing  over  again 
— fight  to  get  the  three  free  afternoons,  run  to  the  ad- 
vertisement sheets,  and  from  there  to  the  vacant  places 
in  East  and  West — let  herself  be  weighed  and  meas- 
ured and  cross-examined.  And  when  one  has  really 
found  something — to  begin  again  in  a  new  home,  new 
rooms  with  new  ways  of  arranging  them,  new  habits 
to  be  instilled  into  one,  new  moods  to  learn  to  put  up 
with,  or — out  again ! 

Ditte  was  tired  of  the  endless  wandering,  tired  of 
journeying  through  home  after  home,  and  of  running 
the  gauntlet.  She  wanted  to  try  to  be  her  own  mistress, 
and  take  casual  jobs  at  people's  homes,  washing,  iron- 
ing and  cooking  and  waiting.  Then  she  could  think  of 
having  her  little  boy  with  her;  she  had  come  to  long 
for  him. 

She  went  out  and  took  a  roonic 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 
GEORGE  AND  DITTE 

LARS  Peter  and  Sine  had  moved  into  town  with 
their  entire  worldly  possessions :  they  were  prop- 
erly married  now  and  had  a  little  ironmongery 
business  out  in  Isted  Street.  The  boys  went  to  school 
there,  and  Else,  who  had  left  school,  was  reading  with 
the  clergyman  for  her  confirmation.  As  soon  as  she 
was  confirmed  she  was  to  go  into  the  shop.  The  boys 
had  half-day  places  while  they  were  still  at  school;  but 
were  to  go  to  sea  when  they  left.  Kristian  had  written 
from  South  America;  he  was  on  his  first  voyage,  and 
was  well  satisfied.  He  was  quite  a  traveled  man  now ! 
It  was  comfortable  enough  at  their  place,  but  Ditte 
seldom  went  there  all  the  same.  Karl  often  called, 
and  she  could  see  that  both  Lars  Peter  and  Sine  were 
displeased  with  the  way  in  which  she  lived.  They  had 
got  to  hear  about  George  somehow  or  other.  And  then 
they  were  so  happy  and  in  love  with  each  other;  that 
got  on  Ditte's  nerves. 

She  saw  nothing  of  George;  he  had  not  shown  up 
since  the  day  he  shied  the  food  at  her  head  and  went  for 
her.  He  was  ashamed!  And  Ditte  did  not  mean  to  seek 
him  out.  She  was  not  angry  with  him  and  did  not  ask 
that  he  should  make  himself  too  cheap  and  come  and 
plead  for  pardon  either.  But  he  must  come  voluntarily, 
so  that  she  knew  that  he  cared  for  her.  In  her  heart  she 

369 


370        DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

did  not  doubt  it;  she  only  needed  him  to  make  a  little 
poor  amends.  She  still  cared  for  him;  but  it  was  neces- 
sary that  he  should  take  the  first  step  for  the  sake  of 
their  future  relations.  He  was  good  and  kind,  when  he 
had  not  been  drinking,  and  she  would  be  able  to  guide 
him,  and  keep  him  off  the  drink  when  once  they  were 
really  living  together.  And  he  needed  her — God  knows 
what  he  was  doing  without  her  now! 

Ditte  was  lonely.  She  had  been  in  Noddebo  to 
fetch  her  little  boy,  who  was  a  big  fellow  of  five  now; 
but  the  adoptive  parents  would  not  let  him  go.  And 
she  could  not  take  him  away  by  force,  especially  as  the 
boy  absolutely  refused  to  go  to  her.  She  had  taken  a 
cheap  little  attic  room  in  one  of  the  dilapidated  build- 
ings in  Queen's  Cross  Street:  here  she  sat  and  brooded 
when  she  was  not  at  work.  She  seldom  went  out,  and 
often  gave  the  other  women  in  the  house  a  helping 
hand,  and  kept  an  eye  on  the  little  ones  when  their 
mothers  had  to  go  out  to  work,  or  get  the  good 
man  home. 

She  was  no  longer  light-hearted  and  happy;  even 
when  she  was  quite  comfortable  and  amused  there  was. 
always  a  place  in  her  heart  where  light  and  happiness|ji 
could  not  penetrate,  and  where  darkness  always  W 
brooded.  It  was  exactly  the  contrary  of  what  had 
been  there  before;  then  there  had  always  been  a  bright 
spot,  however  dark  things  looked  for  her. 

Ditte  could  fix  the  date  of  this  change  precisely — it 
was  after  her  stay  at  the  Vangs'.  She  often  thought 
of  the  happy  months  there,  and  wished  that  she  had 
never  gone  to  stay  with  them.     Not  on  account  of  her 


GEORGE  AND  DITTE  371 

relations  with  Vang;  if  she  lived  to  be  a  hundred  she 
would  never  regret  that !  A  man  who  was  both  strong 
and  handsome  had  breathed  upon  her  heart — and  she 
had  given  herself  to  him,  and  bestowed  her  first  love 
upon  him.  It  was  as  it  should  be:  it  had  only  left 
sweetness,  and  the  memory  of  it  still  remained 
as  sweet. 

But  he  had  set  her  soul  alight;  that  was  the  des- 
perate part  of  the  matter.  After  the  life  she  had  lived 
there — in  pleasant  work,  mental  Interests,  and  human 
fellowship,  It  was  difficult  to  feel  herself  at  home  in  the 
cold  darkness  that  again  closed  around  her.  She  had 
caught  a  glimpse  of  the  Promised  Land — it  had  proved 
her  undoing.  She  was  unable  to  regard  this  experience 
as  something  undeserved — a  bounteous  gift;  but  took 
It  as  a  natural  right.  The  Vangs  themselves  had 
taught  her  to  look  on  it  In  this  light.  And  now  she 
felt  herself  something  of  an  outcast  upon  earth,  with 
her  very  human  demands  upon  life.  The  fixed  idea 
took  possession  of  her  mind  and  was  not  to  be  driven 
out  again,  that  her  world — the  one  she  was  born  into 
and  belonged  to — was  now  an  under-world  to  her. 
She  felt  like  one  who  paces  up  and  down  and  labors  in 
his  damp  prison  cell,  and  suddenly  hears  some  one 
calling  that  he  is  Innocent  and  has  been  betrayed  for  a 
great  inheritance.  Insult  added  to  injury!  It  would 
have  been  better  not  to  have  known  it  at  all ! 

Life  here  In  the  old  tumble-down  Adel  Street  quarter 
was  not  exactly  enlivening.  She  had  need  and  misery 
at  her  elbow,  just  opposite  was  the  gate  of  a  refuge 
for   the   homeless — a   shapeless,    hideous   mass,    cold 


372        DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

and  gloomy  and  squat  of  form.  In  the  evenings  the 
streets  were  full  of  prostitutes  and  foreign  sailors,  so 
she  scarcely  dared  venture  out.  Round  about  her  in 
the  barrack-like  buildings  lay  starving  children :  she 
could  not  help  them,  further  than  a  hand-shake  on  the 
staircase.  That  was  so  much  the  worse!  Now  she 
was  in  the  midst  of  all  the  misery  Vang  had  sketched— 
and  read  aloud  to  them,  when  they  sat  round  the  lamp 
working.  Then  she  had  thought  of  it  all  as  a  poet's 
fancy;  but  it  was  stern  reality  enough  here!  She  had 
herself  been  poor;  but  without  knowing  this  poverty. 
Here  there  was  nothing  to  make  amends  for  being 
poor,  and  help  one  over  it! 

The  names  of  the  streets  were  fine  enough — King's, 
Queen's,  Crown  Prince's,  Noble  and  all  the  rest  of  it! 
But  Ditte  did  not  dream  of  happiness  any  more;  she 
had  given  up  expecting  wonderful  things  to  happen. 
She  contented  herself  with  dreaming  of  George.  He 
lived  a  couple  of  streets  away,  in  Prince's  Street,  but 
was  no  fairy  prince  himself,  Ditte  could  see  that  now 
as  clear  as  any  one.  He  could  make  the  money  fly, 
and  pawn  his  belongings,  so  that  they  were  obliged  to 
stop  his  wages  to  get  the  things  home  again,  and  the 
presents  he  gave  were  generally  bought  on  credit.  No, 
his  word  was  not  to  be  taken  for  more  than  It  was 
worth,  and  all  was  not  gold  that  he  made  out  to  be 
golden.  Yet  existence  took  on  another  color  In  his 
company. 

One  day  she  learned  that  he  was  111.  She  went  to 
him  directly. 

He  utterly  collapsed  at  the  sight  of  her;  threw  him- 


GEORGE  AND  DITTE  373 

self  half  out  of  bed  and  sobbed.  Ditte  took  his  head 
in  her  lap,  and  sat  holding  it.  He  had  grown  thin  and 
angular;  his  hair  clammy  and  tangled.  And  his  bed 
was  dirty  and  had  not  been  made  for  a  long  time.  He 
had  no  night  shirt  on, — only  a  miserable  old  thin 
woolen  vest — he  lay  in  wretched  discomfort.  His  back 
was  emaciated  with  sickness  and  grief.  She  coaxed 
him  back  into  bed. 

"Now  you  must  keep  well  under  the  bed  clothes, 
while  I  fetch  fuel  and  make  a  fire,"  said  she.  He  lay 
watching  her  as  she  lit  the  stove  and  cleaned  the  room. 
His  brown  eyes  followed  every  one  of  her  movements, 
like  a  child's  eyes  they  were — tender  and  full  of  trust- 
fulness. She  smiled  at  him  and  made  a  few  remarks — 
then  he  smiled  faintly  again ;  but  made  no  answer.  And 
soon  she  discovered  that  he  had  fallen  asleep :  big  tears 
still  stood  on  his  eyelashes. 

She  tip-toed  to  the  bed  and  stood  watching  him,  her 
soul  full  of  mingled  gladness  and  grief.  The  sunken, 
deathly  white  head  rested  quietly — almost  too  quietly, 
— the  face  was  turned  upwards.  In  spite  of  the  stubbly 
beard,  and  the  sickly  sweat,  it  was  still  handsome, 
though  pinched.  The  traces  of  a  smile  lay  over  it — 
the  smile  had  been  hers,  but  underneath  it  lay  another 
expression,  which  was  not  a  reflection  of  anything  from 
without,  but  was  there  always.  It  must  come  from 
within,  deeper  than  perhaps  he  knew  himself.  What 
was  it  which  gnawed  at,  and  tormented  his  lightsome, 
good-natured  heart  from  within,  and  drove  him  out 
and  on  to  his  ruin?  Ditte  had  not  asked  what  ailed 
him:  there  was  no  need.    There  were  the  traces  of  a 


374         DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

terrible  orgy  still  upon  him,  his  right  hand  bore  signs 
of  having  been  badly  bruised,  and  one  eye  was  still 
surrounded  by  a  green  and  yellow  halo.  This  was 
gradually  disappearing,  so  it  must  have  taken  place 
about  a  month  ago  !  Yet  he  was  still  lying  here  !  Had 
he  received  some  internal  injury?  Was  it  Death  itself 
that  he  was  fighting?  Ditte's  blood  grew  cold.  She 
stole  quietly  out,  and  asked  a  neighbor  to  listen  and 
hear  if  all  went  well  with  him.  Then  she  went  home 
and  packed  her  things  and  had  them  taken  there. 

A  time  of  troubled  happiness  followed.  Ditte  ar- 
ranging her  work  so  that  she  could  run  home  several 
times  a  day  and  see  to  George,  warm  a  little  food  for 
him,  and  cheer  him  up  a  bit.  She  interested  herself  in 
any  political  news  to  tell  him,  and  bought  halfpenny 
papers  for  him.  He  loved  reading,  and  had  many  fat 
books — novels  he  had  borrowed  from  some  library  or 
other,  and  never  managed  to  take  back  again.  Ditte 
did  not  like  this  carelessness;  she  was  very  exact  about 
always  taking  things  back,  if  she  had  been  obliged  to 
borrow  at  all.  But  it  was  too  late,  and  the  books  came 
in  useful  anyhow.  Every  time  he  had  read  them 
through  to  the  end,  he  began  again  at  the  beginning 
— just  as  interested  the  next  time — like  a  child ! 

Thus  he  passed  the  time,  and  was  grateful  for  every 
kindness  shown  him.  He  liked  lying  there,  and  ex- 
pressed no  wish  to  get  up  or  go  out.  Ditte  was  not 
elated  at  this;  but  took  it  as  a  proof  of  how  ill  he 
was;  when  one  cherished  no  illusions,  one  was  not  dis- 
appointed. All  the  same  a  quiet  hope  lived  within  her 
that  all  would  yet  be  well. 


GEORGE  AND  DITTE  375 

She  got  up  at  three  or  four  o'clock  in  the  morning 
and  went  round  with  papers  for  some  hours,  to  have 
time  to  be  with  him  later  in  the  day,  and  besides  this 
she  took  what  she  could  get  in  the  way  of  chance  jobs. 
It  was  pretty  difficult  to  scrape  together  enough  to 
live  on ;  but  George  was  delighted  with  everything  as  it 
came.  Ditte  was  quite  struck  to  see  how  modest  his 
wants  were  at  bottom,  even  the  least  little  triviality 
would  always  put  him  in  a  good  temper. 

"That  is  splendid,"  he  said  about  everything.  "And 
only  wait  till  I  am  up  again!"  he  would  add  cheer- 
fully. "Then  things  will  go  well.  Then  we  shall  both 
of  us  be  earning!" 

In  the  evenings  and  on  Sundays  Ditte  had  more 
time.  Then  she  sat  on  the  edge  of  his  bed  and  they 
learned  to  know  each  other  better.  She  told  him  about 
her  little  boy;  she  could  not  bear  to  have  secrets  from 
him  now  that  they  lived  together  as  man  and  wife.  "I 
shall  get  him  back  for  you,"  he  said  confidently.  "If 
the  foster  parents  refuse  to  give  him  up,  I  shall  go  to 
the  police." 

Ditte  had  not  much  faith  in  that  being  of  any  use. 
"The  police — they  are  not  there  to  help  us!"  she  said. 

"Yes,  when  poor  folks  are  against  poor  folks,  then 
the  police  can  be  of  use!"  declared  George. 

His  strength  came  slowly  back,  and  he  began  to  be 
able  to  digest  solid  food,  but  Ditte  had  to  be  careful. 
He  threw  it  all  up  at  the  least  provocation.  "I  have 
always  been  like  that,  as  long  as  I  can  remember!"  he 
said,  and  smiled  at  her  fright.  "I  am  squeamish, 
you  see !" 


376        DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

One  day  when  she  came  home,  he  had  got  up:  he 
was  sitting  at  the  window  looking  at  the  new-fallen 
snow.  He  looked  pale  and  weak,  still  it  was  a  step  in 
advance.  "Do  you  know  what  I  was  sitting  and  think- 
ing of?"  he  asked.  "I  was  thinking  of  life.  There  is 
no  real  sense  in  it — for  an  outsider  to  watch.  Good 
and  evil  now — as  regards  the  one  or  the  other!  One 
can  be  sorry  that  one  injures  or  grieves  another  person; 
but  one  can't  avoid  doing  it.  Perhaps  one  suffers 
when  something  has  to  be — one's  self  most  of  all;  but 
one  has  to  bear  the  blame  for  it!  What  sense  is  there 
in  that?  or  in  the  whole  thing?" 

Ditte  laughed.  "You  are  sitting  up  properly  and 
thinking!"  she  said,  glad  and  proud  to  find  how  clever 
he  was.  "But  here  is  something  different  for  you  to 
see.  A  roast  chicken !  I  got  it  from  my  old  employers 
— the  Master  of  Hounds.  They  are  so  good:  the  old 
gentleman  says  that  no  one  has  ever  looked  after  Scott 
as  I  did." 

George  cast  a  fleeting  glance  at  the  chicken.  "I 
don't  know  how  it  is,  but  food  has  never  interested 
me,"  said  he  thoughtfully.  "Not  in  solid  form!"  he 
added  with  a  flash  of  dry  humor. 

"You  have  never  cared  over  much  for  spirits  either," 
answered  Ditte  eagerly,  "it  was  only  something  that 
went  with  all  the  rest.  Do  you  know  what  I  think  it 
was?    Excitement!    You  longed  for  adventures!" 

Now,  however,  he  expressed  no  desire  for  change; 
he  liked  the  room  best.  In  one  way  Ditte  was  glad 
that  he  recovered  so  slowly.     She  knew  where  he  was. 

But  one  day  she  came  home  to  find  him  vanished— 


GEORGE  AND  DITTE  377 

leaving  no  explanations.  She  stood  forlornly  gazing 
at  the  deserted  room.  She  held  her  arm  pressed 
against  her  breast.  The  whole  night  she  sat  up  and 
kept  a  light  burning,  and  the  next  day  she  did  not  go 
out  to  work — she  could  not.  She  sat  pale  and  haggard 
at  the  window,  and  stared  down  into  the  street,  hoping 
to  see  him  turn  up.  If  he  should  be  lying  helpless 
somewhere  or  other !  In  any  case  he  would  have 
over-drawn  his  scanty  stock  of  strength,  and  her  whole 
work  would  be  wasted. 

And  towards  evening  he  suddenly  appeared  at  the 
door  holding  her  little  Jens  by  the  hand.  "Just  look 
what  I  have  for  you — a  fine  boy,  and  delivered  in  a 
perfectly  finished  condition.  I  bought  him  at  the  big 
store,"  he  said,  and  laughed  with  delight.  "Look  a 
little  pleased,  can't  you,  my  girl?"  Ditte  hardly  could. 
The  tension  and  fear  were  over;  but  she  could  scarcely 
be  herself. 

The  boy  was  not  at  all  pleased  to  see  her — he  was 
rather  frightened.  On  the  other  hand  he  clung  to 
George — naturally — every  one  went  mad  over  him. 
It  was  lucky,  however,  especially  as  he  was  the  one 
who  would  have  the  most  to  do  with  him.  George  had 
been  too  venturesome,  and  had  to  keep  his  bed  for 
some  days.  So  the  boy  sat  In  bed  with  him  most  of 
the  time,  and  George  read  one  of  the  novels  aloud  to 
him.  It  was  a  French  love  drama,  about  a  married 
man  and  his  mistress,  and  the  terror  that  possessed 
them  lest  their  intimacy  should  have  consequences, 

"Do  you  read  that  kind  of  thing  to  the  boy?"  asked 
Ditte,  "he  doesn't  understand  a  word  of  it." 


378        DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

"Yes — Jens  understands  it  himself!"  said  the  boy 
quite  offended;  "afraid  they  should  have  a  baby!" 

"There!  Hear  him  yourself!"  George  burst  out 
triumphantly,  "He  is  a  clever  little  chap :  he  has  a  good 
head-piece."  They  were  as  like  as  two  peas:  and  both 
perfect  children.  It  was  a  pleasure  to  Ditte  to  listen 
tc  them. 

Thus  a  couple  of  weeks  went  by,  and  then  a  country 
policeman  came  and  fetched  the  boy  home  again. 

"Of  course  I  could  go  and  pinch  him  once  more," 
said  George,  "but  the  father  stands  behind  him,  and 
the  Old  One  himself  couldn't  get  the  better  of  the 
police  when  they  show  that  side.  You  had  better  adopt 
a  child  yourself!" 

"It's  not  at  all  the  same  thing,"  answered  Ditte 
bitterly. 

"One  loves  children  because  they  are  children,  and 
not  because  one  has  been  so  unlucky  that  one's  own 
number  has  come  up  with  a  baby.  Adopt  one,  and 
then  you  get  money  with  it  into  the  bargain." 

That  would  come  in  very  useful !  George  had  begun 
to  go  out  and  get  a  little  casual  work,  but  it  did  not 
amount  to  much  in  the  week.  And  there  were  no  good 
jobs  going, — the  winter  was  a  dead  time  for  painters. 
"But  then  we  should  have  to  do  the  inspectors,"  said 
Ditte.  "We  shouldn't  get  leave  to  have  adopted  chil- 
dren here!" 

"Inspectors!"  George  laughed.  "Have  you  ever 
heard  of  inspectors  bothering  about  that?  We  nat- 
urally cannot  give  the  little  one  anything  we  haven't 
got  ourselves,"   he  said  seriously,   "but  it  would  be 


GEORGE  AND  DITTE  379 

devilishly  amusing  to  have  a  chick  in  the  nest.     They 
twitter  so  prettily." 

So  they  took  an  adopted  child,  and  pushed  on 
through  the  dark  and  cold  season.  It  was  poor  fare 
anyhow,  but  they  were  happy  together,  and  the  end  of 
the  winter  was  in  sight.  George  got  on  well,  with  one 
small  exception  there  was  never  anything  the  matter 
with  him.  He  went  out  one  day:  Ditte  discovered  that 
her  best  tablecloth  had  disappeared.  But  he  came 
home  early  and  went  to  bed.  When  he  had  fallen 
asleep,  she  went  through  his  pockets,  and  found  the 
pawn  ticket,  and  put  it  away  to  redeem  the  cloth  when 
she  had  the  money.  She  said  nothing  about  it:  it  was 
so  little  to  make  a  fuss  over.  A  day  or  two  afterwards 
he  came  of  his  own  accord,  and  confessed.  "I  was 
out  on  a  spree!"  he  said,  "it  shan't  happen  again!" 

Ditte  was  ready  to  believe  him,  the  little  one  took  up 
most  of  his  attention:  he  had  no  desire  to  go  out  in 
the  evening.  "As  far  as  I'm  concerned,  you  may  take 
another,"  he  said,  while  sitting  and  playing  with 
the  child. 

"It  won't  be  necessary,"  said  Ditte  calmly,  "for  by 
the  summer  we  shall  have  one  of  our  own." 

"Then  we  will  have  a  proper  flat,  in  a  good 
quarter,"  he  answered.  "This  is  a  perfect  hole.  And 
as  soon  as  I  get  work  I  want  you  to  stay  home.  It's 
pretty  rotten  when  the  wife  has  to  go  out  and 
work!" 

Ditte  had  nothing  to  say  against  this,  there  was 
enough  to  do  at  home.  There  was  a  possibility  of  his 
being  taken  on  to  decorate  a  big  building  that  was 


38o        DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

being  converted  into  a  bank;  the  foreman  on  the  job 
had  promised  to  see  about  getting  him  in.  Ditte  was 
thankful  at  the  prospect  of  better  days;  she  was  tired 
and  overstrained  from  having  to  rush  from  place  to 
place  In  her  work. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 
THE  RECKONING 

IT  was  winter  in  the  streets,  and  where  the  men 
were  working,  and  right  inside  the  homes  too; 
Ditte  could  scarcely  keep  the  window  panes  from 
freezing  over.  When  she  wanted  to  see  down  into 
the  street,  she  had  to  breathe  on  them  to  thaw  a  hole. 
She  had  put  the  baby  to  bed  to  keep  him  warm;  for  the 
fuel  had  come  to  an  end  two  days  too  soon — the  cold 
was  so  biting.  What  good  was  it  that  the  sun  was 
mounting  higher  in  the  sky  all  the  time  if  it  could  not 
be  seen.  Snowflakes  danced  over  the  roofs — the  air 
was  thick  with  them,  they  lay  piled  high  in  the  streets. 
All  the  windows  in  the  quarter  were  frozen  over — 
others  were  as  badly  off  as  she — their  fuel  was  finished. 
And  there  were  little  breathing  holes  on  their  panes 
too;  they  peeped  out  as  she  did.  It  was  pay  day  for 
them  too.  Thank  God  the  week  had  only  seven  days  1 
In  their  home  it  was  not  only  pay  day,  but  also  the 
day  for  paying  the  big  bill.  For  a  whole  month  they 
had  existed  on  board  wages;  to-day  the  balance  was 
to  be  made  up  and  the  profit  divided.  She  knew  it 
would  be  a  decent  one,  for  George  had  worked  hard. 
On  the  table  lay  a  long  list  of  things  they  absolutely 
had  to  have,  and  those  they  would  like  to  have  as  well. 
They  had  made  it  out  together  the  evening  before,  and 
it  had  grown  long  indeed.     All  the  time  George  kepr 

381 


382        DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

thinking  of  something  absolutely  necessary — a  set  of 
furs  for  DItte,  toys  for  the  baby — always  something 
else  for  them ;  he  never  thought  of  himself.  To-day  she 
had  gone  through  the  list  once  more,  and  crossed  out 
most  of  the  last  part:  there  was  quite  enough  to  be 
done  with  the  money,  and  if  there  were  a  few  cents 
over,  it  would  be  all  the  better. 

She  stood  there  huddled  In  her  shawl  and  kept  a 
sharp  eye  on  the  street.  Directly  she  saw  him  coming 
she  would  run  down  and  meet  him  at  the  street  door. 
He  should  see  how  fond  she  was  of  him.  She  heard  a 
glad  childish  voice  from  the  next  door  call:  "Now  I 
can  see  Father!"  Then  they  lit  up;  she  could  see  the 
thin  shafts  of  light  which  fell  into  her  room  through 
the  chinks  in  the  wall.  One  by  one  the  dwellings 
around  her  were  all  lit  up.  That  meant  that  the  hus- 
band had  come  home,  and  they  sat  round  the  table  and 
portioned  out  the  week's  wage — for  firing,  food  and 
lottery  ticket.  DItte  suddenly  felt  sick  at  heart;  she 
had  forgotten  to  renew  George's  lottery  ticket! 

The  street  lay  in  darkness;  but  she  remained  stand- 
ing there.  When  she  really  came  to  herself,  it  was  too 
late  to  look  for  George  at  the  place  where  he  worked. 
All  the  same  she  put  a  shawl  over  her  head,  and  went 
down  to  the  street.  For  two  hours  she  went  backwards 
and  forwards  from  one  end  of  the  short  street  to  the 
other,  keeping  an  eye  on  every  living  thing.  She  dared 
not  turn  the  corner;  he  might  be  coming  from  the  other 
side.  Figures  loomed  up  out  of  the  falling  snow,  and 
disappeared  into  it  again.  They  had  a  coating  of 
snow  all  down  one  side  from  top  to  toe.     Any  one  of 


THE  RECKONING  383 

them  might  be  him;  he  must  be  on  the  way  now  I 
Every  time  she  gave  it  up  and  thought  of  going  in,  a 
new  snow-clad  figure  came  within  the  circle  of  light 
from  a  street  lamp,  and  she  ran  towards  it.  "Is  it 
George?"  asked  a  half-grown  hussy  who  came  over 
from  Helsingor  Street,  one  of  the  night-hawks  of  the 
quarter.  *'You  needn't  wait  for  him!  I  met  him  in 
there  at  New  Harbour — he's  up  to  no  good  !'*  So  she 
went  in  and  got  into  bed. 

Next  day  she  begged  a  basket  of  coke  on  credit  from 
the  dealer  and  lit  a  fire.  If  he  did  come  home,  she 
must  be  able  to  keep  him — now  that  he  was  on  the 
loose.  She  made  the  place  look  comfortable  and  put 
on  a  pretty  dress:  it  was  important  to  look  nice  when 
he  came;  a  sour  face  might  drive  him  from  the  door 
again.  She  sat  and  waited  into  the  afternoon,  then  she 
gave  the  child  to  a  neighbor,  while  she  ran  down  to 
Castle  Street  where  his  sister  lived,  perhaps  the 
brother-in-law  would  know  something,  they  were 
fellow-workmen.  When  she  came  back,  the  neighbor 
told  her  that  he  had  been  home — with  a  comrade. 
They  had  eaten  everything  Ditte  had  in  the  larder. 

So  she  rushed  out  again,  at  haphazard!  She  went 
down  to  the  New  Harbour — absurd!  It  was  yester- 
day he  had  been  there!  She  searched  through  dance 
halls  and  workmen's  clubs,  he  might  be  in  one  place 
as  well  as  another.  The  cold  was  frightful :  it  seemed 
absolutely  to  freeze  the  marrow  of  one's  bones,  if  one 
stood  still.  If  he  should  be  lying  out  in  it  now !  Per- 
haps he  was  lying  behind  some  shed  or  paling,  freezing 
to  death !     There  were  so  many  possibilities,  so  over- 


384        DITTE:  DAUGHTER  OF  MAN 

whelmlngly  many — it  was  hopeless  to  go  on  search- 
ing! And  perhaps  he  was  sitting  at  home  now,  waiting 
for  her  and  wondering  what  had  become  of  her.  So 
she  rushed  homeward  in  mad  haste! 

Then  out  once  more !  There  were  all  these  public 
houses  and  bars  to  search  through — places  she  knew 
he  frequented,  and  all  those  others  where  it  was  possi- 
ble that  he  had  dropped  in.  And  his  comrades,  fellow- 
workmen — and  the  suspicious  looking  individuals  she 
knew  he  kept  company  with  when  he  was  in  this  state ! 
And  his  old  sweethearts !  Ditte  went  to  them  too ;  she 
wept  as  she  went  from  place  to  place  in  the  old  build- 
ings, knocking  at  door  after  door;  but  it  never  occurred 
to  her  to  spare  herself.  He  must  be  somewhere  or 
other,  and  it  was  all  the  same  to  her  where,  if  only  she 
could  find  him.  Despair  and  hope  urged  her  on;  when 
she  was  near  collapse,  one  or  the  other  spurred  her  on 
again.  He  had  been  to  many  of  the  places  where  she 
called — she  was  on  his  track- — only  too  far  behind! 
All  the  inhabitants  of  the  quarter  knew  of  her  search; 
when  she  turned  homewards,  they  came  up  to  her 
and  gave  her  information  which  drove  her  out 
again. 

On  the  morning  of  the  third  day  she  came  staggering 
through  Helsingor  Street,  completely  exhausted  and 
ready  to  drop.  She  was  still  searching,  and  was  on 
her  way  home  to  see  if  he  had  come  back;  but  it  was 
purely  mechanical;  she  had  lost  the  power  of  feeling, 
everything  had  come  to  a  dead  stop  within  her.  In 
one  of  the  bad  houses,  a  woman  opened  the  window 
and  called  out  to  her.     She  wore  a  flowered  dressing 


THE  RECKONING  385 

gown,  and  her  abundant  breasts  hung  over  the 
window-sill. 

"Hey,  you  there!  They  have  just  fished  a  fellow 
up  an  hour  ago  in  New  Harbour — like  enough  he 
stumbled  into  the  water  in  the  darlc.  You  should  go 
and  see  if  it  is  him!  They  towed  him  into  the 
Morgue."    Then  the  window  was  slammed  to. 

Ditte  went  no  further:  she  returned  quietly  home. 
Now  she  had  found  him.  She  undressed  and  crept 
into  bed,  dazed  and  half  dead.  And  as  she  lay  gazing 
vacantly  at  the  ceiling,  numbed  and  utterly  unable  to 
feel  or  think,  there  was  a  sudden  movement  within  her. 
It  was  a  soft  mysterious  movement  which  slowly 
stroked  the  inner  skin  of  her  stomach,  and  glided  back 
again,  like  a  finger  writing,  and  it  was  followed  by  two 
dull,  warning  thuds.  Ditte  lifted  her  head  from  the 
pillow  and  stared  bewildered  around  her;  then  she 
grasped  the  meaning  of  the  secret  signal  from  the 
hidden  being.  It  was  as  if  a  light  had  been  lit,  deep, 
deep  down  in  the  darkness;  it  streamed  suddenly  in  on 
her  with  overwhelming  might. 

She  burst  into  violent  weeping. 


2I7S 


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